Breathe easy
by Nadin4400
Summary: Takes place after "Dear Angel". AU. Mid-season 4 at the moment. Dean/Bela, Sam, Bobby, Castiel and others. The Apocalypse is coming, Lilith keeps breaking the seasls while two lost souls try to learn to be themselves again. Better summary inside. Ch 5 UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Breathe easy

**Summary**: Lilith keeps breaking the seals and there is only one person who can stop her. The one who started it all. The one who can't compose himself enough to do it. Dean is having hard times with the Apocalypse rolling in on them and the seals breaking faster than they can stop it while Bela is doing her best to be back to her life after what she'd experienced in Hell

**Spoilers**: Season 4, up to "Jump the Shark" (so far; I'll see if I need to extend it)

**Characters: **Dean, Sam, Castiel, Anna, Bela, Bobby, Ruby, some other demons perhaps

**Pairings**: Dean/Bela, Sam/Ruby (implied)

**Disclaimer**: unfortunately, none of them is mine. All characters belong to Eric Kripke and CW. I boldly borrowed them for entertainment purposes only and promise to give them back, sooner or later. Probably unharmed.

**Author's Note**: I have a serious problem with the sequels or two-part stories, and actually I wasn't sure about writing this one. Never planned it. "Dear Angel" was written almost overnight; I considered it to be a finished independent story and I liked it that way, but then I just… well, I miss Bela. Chances are, it might not work in the end, so please be kind. I'm very bad with timings, too. Really. I know that supposedly Alastair was killed or sent back hell by Sam long before "Jump the shark" but I may need him to make this story work.

The title is take from the song "Breathe easy" performed by Blue. I just like it. Not that it has much to do with the plot of the story :))

**

* * *

Chapter 1**

_--__ Would you mind if I hurt you?_

_Understand that I need to._

_Wish that I had other choices_

_Than to harm the one I love…_

"_What have you done" by Within Temptation --_

The air in the small bar located on the outskirts of the town was thick, heavy and consisted mainly of booze and bluish cigarette smoke even at three in the afternoon. Plus, utter lack of windows and natural light which didn't exactly let define the time of the day without the clock wasn't really helping the matter. Not that anyone cared of course. Not in a place like that anyway.

Several coins brought an old bright jukebox back to life and now it was playing some thirty-year old country song. Both the song and the jukebox itself were out of place and stood out like a sore thumb, but then again no one seemed to pay any attention to it either.

As for Dean, he had no problem with any of them. He was sitting on the tall stool at the scarred counter that had probably never been polished or merely properly cleaned in its hundreds of years of existence, staring sightlessly at the ice cubes rolling in his half-empty glass of whiskey and doing his best to keep his mind blank. Trying not to think. Like – at all. Okay, maybe it would finally start working after another glass. Or two. Or three, more like it.

And here is to no alcohol before sunset, he thought absently and gave his drink a small shake. The cubes clinked and settled.

He didn't remember how he ended up there. Of when. Or why, speaking of that. Or if he had any significant reason to ever leave. Small evil voice inside of his head – still too sober perhaps – told him that the answer to the latter was probably no. Dean heaved a deep sigh, his fingers flexed on the glass and then relaxed a little again. Some conscious part of his mind wished he could stay here forever to have one drink after another until he simply stopped existing. This at least would make a lot more sense than anything else in his sorry life.

He was so screwed up. His whole life was falling to shit. Everything he lived for, everything he believed in – it had all gone right to hell leaving him alone, confused and rather miserable. All the things that made sense ever since he remembered himself, that were the core of his existence just – _poof!_ – disappeared and now he didn't know where to turn to find himself again. In case it was possible, which he wasn't all that sure of anymore. So far, the feeling of self-disgust and hatred was so deep and consuming that it hurt.

On the bright side, he at least knew he actually had a soul. Kinda. Could practically feel it aching, scarred and wounded. And no, he had no idea how – or if – he could stop it.

_So, dad, are you still sure you staked on the right son? _

Maybe it wasn't a salvation at all? Dean couldn't help thinking that he'd been brought back only because it was he cruelest way to punish him for what he'd done in hell. No, he didn't care about any of that down there. It wasn't hard to learn to block his mind and emotions when he knew he'd already been to the worst place imaginable. He'd been dead anyway. He'd been to _Hell_. How worse could it possible have gone from there?

Now he knew, though. Remembering all the people – souls – he'd destroyed, humiliated and abused, every single one that he'd worked on. All of them were tearing him apart now. Hundreds. Or maybe thousands of hem. He lost track of numbers, or maybe never actually counted. It didn't change the fact that it was bloody unfair that he was alive now whereas all of them, guilty or innocent he didn't care, stayed where they were. It was unfair in that charming way life tended to be, in general. And saving one soul – for whatever price there was to pay now – didn't make Dean all that sure that it had made it up for what he'd done. Nothing could, or would, for that matter.

He just wanted to forget. For a while. For one goddamned minute. About everything, every bloody day of his life. For just a moment, he thought. Just to catch his balance again. To believe that it was worth it. To stop falling apart. God, how much more alcohol he needed to stop going crazy?

There was no sound and the air remained still but all of a sudden Dean knew that he wasn't alone anymore. Someone was sitting right next to him, on the similar tall stool to the left from him, his face a stone mask. The one Dean got rather used to by now. Surely, he was dressed in that trademark beige raincoat of his. Dean Winchester didn't need to bother and turn his head to know all of that.

"So, what happened to the conspiracy theory, Cas?" He asked with a smirk keeping his eyes on the glass. "Popping in and out like that."

"He didn't notice, I assure you, Dean." Castiel's vice was calm and confident.

Dean looked at the bartender out of the corner of his eye. The appearance of another customer out of thin air, literary speaking, didn't seem to merely bother him. At least he never stopped wiping dry the beer mugs standing at the other end of the counter. Inwardly, Dean winced a little. He could have used a show.

"Did he notice you at all?"

"He thinks I came here with you and am staying here ever since."

Dean's lips quirked into a poor imitation of a grin. "Messing up with people's minds now? Dude, where is Lord's will in it?" The question was heavy with sarcasm, almost a dare.

Castiel ignore it completely – both the questions and the tone they were asked with. "What are you doing here, Dean?" He asked in that level voice that was setting Dean's teeth on edge more that anything in the entire universe.

Dean took a big swig of his whiskey and let it burn its way down his throat. It settled heavily in his stomach like a misshaped lump, but it only took a moment for comforting warmth to start spreading through his body making his thoughts fuzzy and muffled by the second. Making him feel a little like a stuffed toy.

"I am playing golf here, don't ya see?" He breathed out.

Seriously, all he wanted was to be left alone, at least right now.

"Lilith is not wasting her time getting drunk in places like that."

"Sure she doesn't," Dean muttered. "Bet she'd pick something friggin' posh instead. With face control and guest list, y'know."

"The world is going crazy, and it is not a metaphor anymore. You have to find her before more seals are broken. Before it got too late."

"Well, sorry, buddy, but apparently it slipped her mind to share her schedule with me. Or maybe it is a poor postal service to blame." He shrugged. "Either way."

"Dean," Castiel started, and either Dean was getting a little delusional, which wasn't all that impossible, or there was a warning in the angel's voice. "You promised…"

Oh, yeah, right. _That_ didn't slip his mind for sure.

"To help you, and listen to you, and be a wordless puppet in the Lord's hands." Dean turned to look the angel in the face. "I remember that. But I never promised to be friggin' excited about it. You know where she is – tell me and I'll go and kick her ass. If you don't, just go to hell, Cas. I'm in the middle of something very enjoyable here, really."

Castiel wasn't looking his way though. He was staring at the row of bottles before him instead. "She won't be sitting and waiting for you to come, Dean. If we want to get her, we need to be a step ahead. Otherwise, everything is vain."

"This whole bloody world is vain, man."

God, he was so tired of all of that, Dean thought. So tired that he thought his head was going to explode any moment. He rubbed at his face and tried to remember the last time he had decent sleep. Or… any sleep.

"There was no demon activity lately. For almost two weeks now. What do you want from me, exactly? It's not like we can walk around the streets with EMF and check everyone."

Castiel kept silent for a long moment. Not that Dean expected any response or reaction at all, what with the question being rhetoric more or less. Besides, angels were hard on actual advices. But he started counting in his mind alongside with the clock ticking on the wall to the right from him all the same. As if waiting for something.

"You could start caring for starters," Castiel said in the end.

Dean chuckled ruefully. "You can tell me to go and fight, and I will, Cas. You can tell me to go and kick some demon asses and I'll go and do it." He kept his eyes on the ice cubes in his glass as if an answer could sooner or later appear somewhere there. "But you cannot tell me to start caring."

"Dean…"

"You can't." He repeated. "You have already asked for more than you had right to, saving me or not." His voice was grave and cold, and it dropped a little as the memories of Alastair sprawled on the rack and a row of knives lying on the small table before him filled his mind.

"So you don't think that what you've asked in return was big enough? I went against Lord's will to do you a favor, Dean."

"Since when sending innocent people to hell to pay for the sins of the others is His will, Cas?" Angel didn't answer, for which Dean was endlessly grateful. He was so not up to listening to all that _If-it-happened-then-it-was-Lord's-will-and-if-it-was-his-will-it-was-the-right-thing-to-happen_ shit. He finished his drink if one bog gulp feeling that his blood was finally getting somewhat warm for the first time in a long while. Put the glass on the counter and then, "How is she?" in a low voice, more a whoosh of a breath than actual sound. The words came out of his mouth before he has time to think but he… Well, he just needed to know. Caught his breath even. A little. Like the answer… _mattered_ or something.

"Why don't you ask her, Dean? There is no need to ask me." Castiel's voice sounded oddly tired, to Dean's endless surprise.

Dean's lips quirked into a humorless smirk. "The nature of our relationship kinda excludes any sort of civil communication, see."

"It's not…"

"Look, she hates me, okay? She'll probably start shooting before I open my mouth."

Leave alone the fact that least of all Bela probably needed to be reminded of hell and her time in the pit, and he kinda was the best of all possible reminders. Dean simply wanted to stop causing her any more pain than he'd already caused. And the best way to do it was to keep distance, like several states between them. Preferably. For the sake of both of them. He couldn't even think of her looking at him the way she did the last time he saw her. Couldn't stand the thought…

Dean hoped that he made his point clear. Not that it ever worked well in the past, what with Castiel following blindly the orders of his superiors. But come on!

"They know she escaped and they don't like it." An angel said with what Dean thought was regret.

Yet, the words struck him although he expressed it only by tightening his grip on the now empty glass. It would probably make sense to ask for more whiskey. But then maybe not. His stomach twisted with… oh, God, worry? Seriously! The last sip now felt almost nauseating.

"How?" Dean fought to keep his voice nonchalant. "Are you guys running a bulletin or something? _Heaven and Hell Daily_?"

"It's not a common thing for people to come back from dead, Dean."

Dean considered his words for a long moment, and then nodded in agreement. With good luck – not that he believed he had it – he could easily become a part of history, like the second… Second _what_? Dean "Jesus" Winchester. Now that was just insane, right? Maybe some more whiskey wasn't a bad idea after all.

"Okay, so? It wounded their pride or what?" He muttered not at all up to hearing the answer. "Personal revenge?"

"I think you understand that Lilith used Abby… Bela in the past because she was connected to you." Sure thing, Castiel was quick to confirm the worst of Dean's fears. "It couldn't have escaped them that you got out one after another."

_Crap! _

"What a coincidence, huh? Well, stranger things happen. Like winning a million in Jack Pot or something." And then as an afterthought, "Oh, who am I telling it to?"

"They will probably try to get to her."

"Come on! Only an idiot would mess with Bela, and they are… Okay, they can."

_Crap, crap, crap!_

The thing was, they could actually decide to try… Not that it was any of his business anymore. Or ever.

"I can't be her babysitter, if that is what you're trying to say, man," Dean told in a dull voice as if… hell, as if what he'd done made him responsible for her well-being in any way, for God's sake! "Not that she'd let me." He paused and then let out a long sight staring right before himself. "I helped her out. Kinda. Okay, you did. Whatever, dude. Now she's on her own." He gestured at the bartender - _one more, the same_.

"I didn't bring her back only because you asked me to, Dean."

"What?" Okay, now that was a little… unexpected. Dean blinked dumbly at him. "What do you mean? Why would you do it then?" He was still holding his empty glass so tight that he might have as well broken it if he wanted.

Castiel ignored him however. "You have to find Lilith and stop her until it's too late. The further she goes, the easier it gets."

Dean clenched his teeth in annoyance debating bringing them back to the original conversation, but then decided to let it slip. He wondered how much he actually wanted to hear the answer. It wasn't the first time he fought the wish to bloody grab an angel and shake him hard to force him become more… _human_?

But all of a sudden he felt oddly numb, as if all of his thoughts and feelings were not exactly his anymore. As if the whole end of the world thing was a joke of some sort.

Middle-aged bartender with barely recognizable face, what with the darkness and smoke filling the entire space of the bar, came up to them and replaced Dean's empty glass with the new one. He barely looked at Castiel and never asked if he wanted something, too, which made Dean let out a small grumbled smirk. He took the glass and turned it from side to side in his hand studying it thoughtfully as though it had some deep meaning, or whatever.

"Honestly, dude, do you think it all makes any sense? Like – at all? You think we can actually win? Because… really, if the whole world falling to shit is inevitable, then I'm sure I'd find a better way to spend my last days than tearing my ass for nothing."

"It's not that simple…"

"'Course it isn't. But seriously, man, tell me, doesn't God actually have this big book or something where he keeps records of our sins and good deeds and other stuff?" Feeling that his brain simply didn't want to get affected by alcohol today, Dean looked at Castiel. "Can't he like…. Say if the damned Apocalypse is meant to be so that the fight became at least worth it?" Then rubbed tired at his eyes. "I just wanna know."

Castiel stayed silent for a very long time. He just sat there looking at Dean with patience and understanding. And sympathy maybe. And all of Dean's anger and frustration was suddenly gone. For a very long moment he wasn't even sure he was able to feel anything at all. He was just so tired…

"You shouldn't be questioning His existence."

"Sorry, I got a little carried away by all the crap that's happening all around."

Another gulp made its way down his throat while Dean debated sticking to _where-the-hell-God-was-when-I-suffered-so-much theme_. Not that it made much sense. Or _where-the-hell-God-was-when-my-brother-started-messing-up-with-the-demon?_ Yeah, that was a huge issue. Kinda.

Sam wasn't the person he used to know and love and… trust anymore. They had secrets now… real big secrets. Not just some crap like "I won't tell you what I feel because I'm not some freaking girl". They both had dark secrets now. They became strangers. And for the first time in his entire life Dean didn't know how to make it up. Something told him that a couple of beers wouldn't do the trick. He wasn't even sure if it was possible at all.

And together with it, he wasn't so sure he wanted to save the world he didn't belong in anymore. Hell if Castiel and the like didn't know about it.

The Juke Box started playing something from the decades old album of Rolling Stones but Dean couldn't make out the name of the song at first, his hands holding on to the cold glass as it was an anchor of some sort. He wished it were.

"Look, she's a big girl and she can take care of herself better than anyone in this friggin' stupid world. She's better off without me, and… Really, man, I have no idea what do you have in mind but…" Dean paused. "Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?" Breathed out after a great deal of hesitation as if he wasn't quite sure how to put his thoughts in words. "I know you've already done a few things for me. But can… can you keep an eye on her?" The end of the phrase came out like 'keepaneyeoneher', too fast and muffled, what with Dean not being sure he actually wanted to say it; like he changed his mind the last moment but it was too late.

No response came. And okay, maybe it was a little too much. He could admit it. The end of the world was coming, the war between living and dead, _blah, blah, blah_. He could swear Cas and his buddies could find a better hobby than baby-sit some lost soul. Besides, after all that Castiel had already done for him Dean hardly had any right to ask even for a napkin, leave alone any actual request, but if he was right, if they actually were thinking of coming for her… he just had to.

Thinking that he gave Castiel enough time to consider his words, Dean turned around… and saw empty chair.

"And they say I have problems with manners," he muttered shaking his head.

**

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To be continued! **

**A/N: **More to come soon, hopefully :)) Reviews are always love!


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors' notes:** Oh well, here we are again :))) It took me ages to update, I know *sighs* But the job and all other stuff takes too much of my time to be as good on updates as before. I hope that you're still with me though :)))

Thanks for paying attention, really. I appreciated it a lot! Hope you don't mind me making this chap a sort of song-chap

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_-- Again and again I try_

_To understand the demons inside your head,_

_But the truth is you love them to death._

"_The last time" by Within Temptation--_

The alley in the old city park was dark and deserted, it was too late and cold for anyone to enjoy the walk or even pass by. The wrought-iron bench and the trees around it were covered with snow and lit by the lone dim streetlamp casting wicked-shaped shadows at the curving walkway.

"It was meant to be done," Anna Milton appeared from the shadows and stopped at the far end of the bench.

"I'm not saying it wasn't," Castiel said in calm assured voice standing on the walkway with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his raincoat.

"Give him some time, he will figure it out," she replied.

"We don't have much time."

"You don't have the power to force Dean do something against his will."

"No one does. But we can't wait for long."

"What do you know?" Anna demanded, all grave at once.

Castiel stayed silent for a very long moment looking at the flickering light, his lips pursed tight as though he didn't know whether he should answer her question at all. The gust of wind rumpled his hair and he shivered in the freezing-cold air.

"She's gathering the forces," he said at last. "Whatever she can find, she's getting stronger. And we're still losing."

Anna considered his words for a moment. "Who told you that?"

"Rumors and hearsay." Had she known him worse, she'd thought he was being sarcastic. "It's not like they share every piece of information with me." He paused and looked her in the face. "They'd cut me off any information if they find out I'm still in touch with you."

Anna snorted.

"You know, I can find other ways."

"It's not what I mean."

"I know what you mean, Castiel. I'm too much of an outcast to even be talked to. Good price for having my wish come true, I got that. Not that I'd ever make it any other way had I had another chance. I appreciate it that you still do, really. Talk to me, I mean. Just so you knew."

"You'd fall again," and they both knew it wasn't a question. "Even if you knew the exact consequences."

"I don't' expect you to understand." She knew the regret was obvious in her voice, no matter how hard she tried not to let it slip. Still… "Stay close to them, will you? And…" she hesitated for a moment. "Keep you eyes open." Their eyes met again. "I mean it, Castiel. Be careful."

There was a rustle behind Castiel's back and he span around… to find a bird taking off the nearest bush. When he turned back, the spot where Anna stood a moment ago was empty.

***

Strange how different the world could be when looking through the eyes of a person who knew exactly what _hell_ looked like. Even the smallest things that people usually never paid much attention to gained the whole new meaning. The colors looked brighter and deeper; the sounds were clearer and louder. And the feelings… the feelings sharpened and sort of multiplied by thousand times. Like she was born all over again. The only difference was that now she could actually appreciate it to the full extent, what with knowing exactly what it had been on the other side.

But together with appreciation came the fear. Fear of hearing the howling again. Fear of dying. Something Bela knew she didn't have before. Not "_Well, no one came back to tell us what it looks like_" kind of anxiety the majority of human beings had. But "_I'm going to dig my teeth and nails into whatever only to avoid going there ever again_" horror. Animal fear that could keep her wide awake for several nights in a row, listening, waiting, until her consciousness turned off on the will of its own. The very fear that was making her hear the sounds and see the shadows in the dark that weren't actually there. The one that was making her clutch her gun tighter and catch her breath in order not to give away her location while her heart kept pumping out of her chest.

She would never have imagined it would be like that. Every bloody second of the time she spent in hell she wanted to get out. She hoped and prayed and pleaded and struggled but she never – not for a moment – thought about what it would be like to really escape and then be forced to learn to live from the start. What it would be like to try to get used to simple things. To get used to no pain.

And yet, it turned out to be a harder task than she ever thought it could be. Bela couldn't close her eyes without seeing herself on the rack, and demons all around her, and blood – probably hers. She could never stop thinking about what it felt like to be cut through. She couldn't do anything to block her mind from remembering every damned moment of this endless nightmare. She knew exactly what her insides looked like – saw them way too often to forget it ever. Knew what her heart looked like when someone – or more like _something_ – held it in their hands. She was waking up with the tears streaming down her face and screams of fear, and usually it took her a long while to understand that they were her own screams.

Bela was out of hell, true, but hell was still inside of her, as though some part of her would always stay down there. And she also knew – no matter how much she tried NOT to think about it – that she would never be the same, and the whole world would never be the same, too. At least for her. Nothing would ever be the way it had been before. She knew she would never forget or let go. Her personal little hell. The new one, improved and upgraded version.

She didn't know how to be herself – or anyone else, speaking of that – with all the horrors of her past multiplied by her time down in the pit but Bela was oddly determine to at least give it a try. And wasn't coming back from hell worth it? She only needed to figure out the details… and maybe erase the memory of the past twenty years, too. It was hard to accept the fact that the world had changed as well. She'd been gone for almost a year – over a century in hell-time – and got back to the entirely different place. Yes, she'd been gone for way too long, but she still knew her way around the territory, and she didn't like what she'd learned. And it definitely wasn't helping her to have better sleep at night…

Bela snapped her eyes open and jerked her head up breathing hard and fighting yet another panic attack that she'd been having every single time upon waking now, which grew up a little when she didn't see the now familiar ceiling of her bedroom. So there, it happened after all, she thought with despair. It was all a dream, Dean, her coming back, her…

It took her a moment to realize that she must have simply dozed off on the couch in the living room. Bela blinked with confusion at the cup with the long cold tea and some papers scattered all over the coffee table before her, and then let out a long sigh of relief.

She tipped her head back against the back of the couch and rubbed tiredly at her eyelids. Suppressed the yawn and finally bothered to check the time. It was nearing four in the morning, which meat that she'd been out for only a couple of hours at most, too eager to get back to her normal self without actually knowing what normal meant, what with the case she'd taken recently. The papers were the information she'd managed to get so far, and all she actually wanted was to find the charm and…

It wasn't the dream that woke her up though, like almost every time she'd been ripped out of yet another nightmare by her own scream. The sense of some uneasiness crept all over her. Bela wasn't even sure she'd been having any dreams this time, at all. Or maybe her consciousness mercifully erased the memory of them. But if it wasn't a dream, then it was something else, and the thought suddenly became terrifying ever before it fully formed it her head. Bela knew way too much not to trust her instincts. Something just wasn't right.

The cat that was sleeping in the other end of the couch opened the eyes and raised its head. His ears twitched. Bela caught the movement out of the corner of her eyes and turned to look at him.

"What?" She frowned.

And then it happened again. The sound that must have interrupted her sleep.

The knock on the door?!

Bela span around and stared at the door. In complete silence that only night could bring the knock sounded especially blood-chilling. Her heart plummeted down and settled heavily in her stomach causing cold nauseating feeling.

Still looking in the direction of the hallway, Bela reached out behind one of the couch cushions and felt that her heart slowed down a little only when her fingers closed around cold steel of the gun. She kept them stashed all over her place now, at least one in each room. Bela Talbot might be getting a little paranoiac but she was anything but unarmed.

It wasn't hard to imagine that she could hear the hellhounds howling and scratching at the door again, exactly the way they did when they came for her the first time in that dump of a motel room that Sam and Dean had left behind so easily. And Bela had no problem with seeing her entire apartment filling with thick black smoke. In her mind these picture were as clear and real as they could possibly be. But there still was one thing that she was two hundred percent sure of – demons didn't need to knock! Too much delicacy. Like the last wish of the person sentenced to death. What was the point if one was going to die regardless?

"You're not waiting for an order from Chinese restaurant, are you?" She asked her cat in a low shaky voice and finally forced herself up from the couch, not as steady on her feet as she'd like to be; gun clenched tight in her hand but lowered in case it was a mistake or something.

She wasn't sure she needed the trouble of demonstrating the weapon to whoever was so persistent on the other side but her hand was already lying on the door knob. Listening to the dull thuds of her heart, Bela hesitated for a moment and then yanked the door open ready to cock the gun and pull the trigger if necessary.

She blinked then, startled with surprise and sudden relief, or at least something that had probably been relief somewhere deep inside, not that she had time to contemplate it.

There was a guy in a long beige coat that looked exactly like an estate or insurance agent with slightly rumpled hair, grave face and piecing blue eyes. The problem was – Bela couldn't quite imagine insurance agents paying a visit at four in the morning. And okay, even if they did, for some reason she couldn't quite get, they would definitely never be like _that_. The guy turned and looked at her.

He wasn't a demon – that, of all things, she was sure of. After all the time she spent in their company, she knew what the demons _felt_ like. Also, he felt humanly tired. And he definitely didn't expect her to pull out the gun and shoot him. Or didn't fear it, so she held it hidden behind her back and just kept staring at him, wary all the same despite herself.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Bela let the stranger study her face. He didn't look surprised, so she assumed that the question "I'm sorry, doesn't Mr. Smith live here?" wasn't coming.

"Hello, Bela," the man said in the end in a low velvet voice causing goose-bumps all over her flesh.

She took a small involuntary step back overwhelmed by newly arisen panic. The voice… Hell, it sounded like…

"Who are you?" She asked back, all suspicion at once.

There was a short pause during which the stranger just watched her with odd expression that Bela couldn't quite define.

"I am Castiel," he said then, as if it was making any sense. And added, "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Bela blinked once, and then again. Took her time to process the information and felt her lips twisting into a smirk. She chuckled softly and shook her head, gave the guy another apprehensive look.

"Nice try!" And slammed the door right before his face, both relived and annoyed now. Let out a small nervous giggle. Insane!

She checked the locks then, wondering if some chamomile tea could help her get some more sleep, turned around… and all but stumbled and jerked back when she saw the stranger standing in the middle of her living room with the same calm and somewhat absent expression on his face.

"What the…" Bela started, threw a lightning-fast look over her shoulder and at the front door and then cocked her gun aiming right in the chest of her visitor. "How did you… Who are you?"

"I am Castiel. I'm an angel…"

"Cut the crap!" Soft click of her gun made Bela's voice stronger and steadier. One word or movement she'd interpret as threatening, and God help her but messing with her would be the last thing the guy would do in his life. "Who. The hell. Are you?" She repeated slowly making the way she said it speak volumes. Tried no to give in to the strange feeling that was making her insides twist.

"Bela…"

The voice… It sounded like… like… oh, God! She was going crazy, really, but come on! Wasn't it the only way to stay alive? And still, the feeling that something wasn't the way she assumed wasn't letting go off of her.

"You know I am telling the truth," the man said.

"All I know is that I don't actually care who or what the hell ever you are. But I'm counting to three, and if you're still here when I'm done, you're in a big trouble" Bela fingers flexed on the gun. "One…"

"I need you to listen to me, it is very important--"

"Sorry, but I'm done with the deals." So, that was what it all was about, huh? Funny but the demons turned out to be a lot more persistent than all insurance agents or make-up retailers or whoever else could be, altogether. "Two…"

It was a little annoying and more than a little unnerving that he didn't seem to be merely bothered by the threat, as if he didn't see the gun aimed straight at his chest.

"You don't have to be afraid of me."

Bela chuckled despite herself. Oh yeah, right. She didn't have to worry about anything at all. All she had to do was to forget what had happened the last time she'd been foolish enough to trust someone she didn't know. Or, say, someone who had a tendency to appear out of the blue. And she wasn't a fool. At least in this new life.

"Sure, like anyone would ever buy that," she commented dryly. "I am not at all interested in whatever you have to say or to offer." And after a pause. "Three." She was so not going to be a part of whatever game they had in mind.

God, she just wanted him to go away and leave her alone. She wanted them all to leave her alone just for once. And preferably forever.

"You need to find Dean Winchester," the man said all of sudden, his voice implying that he hadn't heard that _three_ of hers. "This is very serious, Bela. You need to listen to me. The war is coming and…"

The name struck her. Moreover, she was pretty sure she didn't hear a word after the phrase _You need to find Dean Winchester_. In the back of her mind Bela saw it coming, some part of her knew it from the start. And yet it was shocking. Unexpected.

She swallowed hard feeling a little dizzy all of a sudden, her finger paused on the trigger and her stomach plummeted down heavily. Not because of her visitor's weird attitude although it was enough to give her creeps, but because of the look in his eyes. Like… like he was actually expecting something from her. Like he was sure that she knew what he was talking about or something. And the worst thing was that deep inside she did know, or at least she thought that she might be right about it. Maybe…

Subtly, she took several deep breaths to try and calm down, eyes pinned to the man before her, waiting… Yeah, she was expecting his eyes to turn black ever from the start. It would be so logical and natural that every second of waiting seemed ridiculous.

The gaze of the blue eyes was intense and she felt like he was seeing right through her. Like he was reading her mind even.

And since the idea wasn't entirely impossible, Bela didn't like it. She took another deep breath to clear her mind as best she could. Tried to focus on the feeling of the weapon in her hand, its weight and texture, on her own fingertips and toes. Anything but the man before her. She knew she was good at it. Blocking her mind to the outer world was the first thing she learn when she started using the talking board to keep the spirits away. It wasn't hard. Generally. With the only exception that now she wasn't even half as calm and concentrated as when she was normally asking the other side for help.

"He needs you more than either of you can see," the man repeated, and Bela clenched her teeth against the goose bumps that ran down her spine at the sound of his voice.

"Whoever you are, you are crazy," she said finally finding the explanation that suited the situation and satisfied her most. "I don't know how you did thing trick with getting in through the closed door, but you either leave right now or…" She trailed off and gave him the most charming smile of hers; the one that Bela was pretty sure promised all horrors of hell to her guest.

She shifted from foot to foot, her hand getting a little tired of holding the gun, and fought for a quick witty reply. Old clock on the mantelpiece let out five slow dings. It gave her a start, made her turn her head in that direction for just a moment, too short for the man to act in case he planned to attack her or something, but when she looked back to where Castiel was supposed to be… he was gone.

"What the…?" Bela whirled around, gun cocked up and clutched tight, expecting to see her visitor fleeing.

But the living room was empty, and so were the kitchen and the part of the corridor she could see from where she was standing. She paused for a very long moment listening intensely but everything was quiet, and all she could actually hear was the soft roar of the fridge working in the kitchen and the ticking of the clock.

Cautiously she approached the door to find it locked the way she left it, with the chain on and all. Green light on the security panel was on, too. Whoever her stranger visitor was, he walked in right through the solid wood and then… well, disappeared.

Bela let out the breath she didn't even notice she was holding and finally lowered her hand, the gun still clutched tight. Leaned against the corridor wall and ran her fingers through her hair. Made an attempt to think straight.

It wasn't a dream or a trick of her mind, that she was sure of. The salesman-looking guy was as real as one could be. His soft voice, so familiar, was ringing in her head. And… he bloody knew Dean Winchester!

The name – even being said only in her mind – gave Bela's heart a leap and made her swallow hard. She closed her eyes and rubbed tiredly at her eyelids. It was juts a little too much… she snapped her eyes open then feeling the rage growing inside of her. Pure, white-hot, consuming fury. It was right about time to have a little talk.

***

She knew where he was. Of course she did. How could she not? Kept track of him, just in case. Not that she actually cared but… It was funny to see how easily some of her skills were coming back even through the utter chaos in her head and soul. As if it was something like… breathing. Something that she couldn't have forgotten even if she wanted. Once again life proved to Bela that surviving at any cost was her talent of some sort.

Eyes narrowed and fixed on the road, fingers flexing on the steering wheel, Bela felt dark determination growing inside of her. This time Dean Winchester went just a little too far.

And come on! Like there weren't enough stuff happening in her life to blow her mind! Of all the things in the world, one Bela was sure of – there was no such thing as angels. It took her a while to get why her visitor was so familiar. But it definitely was him. She had already heard that soft velvet voice before. She had heard it on the night she got back. The man was right there with Dean in that motel room. Her memories of that were blurred and quite random. She didn't even know how much of what she remembered had happened for real. But she was sure she could bet all of her money on hearing that voice before. Well, that could at least explain how he got to know her name. Nothing mysterious after all.

She passed by a rather rundown gas-station located so far from the main highways that Bela doubted that they had more than a couple of clients a month. Felt the need to have some coffee and decided to stop at the next one hoping it would be more decent. God, she needed coffee. Coffee, some sleep, and to kill Dean Winchester.

She let out a long breath and relaxed her fingers a little when she noticed that she was holding the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles turned white.

Five weeks. Bloody hell, she hadn't heard a word from him for over five weeks.

Her mind drifted back to that night…

Five weeks ago Bela woke up in the empty motel room with no Dean in sight and the feeling that the whole _out of hell_ thing was a dream. The room was dark, small and depressingly empty. The second bed was undoubtedly untouched. She failed to find a goodbye note, or any other note at all, specking of that, just the keys from the rented car were lying on the nightstand. Oh, and the fact that the room was paid for. He hadn't called or showed up later either. No one bothered to come and explain to her how and why it happened that she wasn't dead anymore. Why they were both alive.

Not that she cared… All she bloody wanted was to have her life back, and apparently to have her dream come true she needed to get rid of the mess in her head. She needed to get the answers and then try and cross Dean Winchester and his geek of a brother out of her life once and for all.

***

The motel was small, cheap and looked pretty much like a dump of a place which made Bela wonder what on earth could possibly make people even come near it. Not that it was such a surprise. After all of her previous experience with the Winchesters she didn't exactly expect to see anything else.

But the view made her squint all the same.

Bela hit the brakes and car came to an abrupt stop, tires squealing on the asphalt. Didn't care to park properly leaving one of the front wheels almost in the flowerbed covered with fresh snow at this time of the year. She pushed the door open fighting the sudden wish to u-turn and speed away instead, and left the car. Hands balled, she stomped up the icy pavement to the door with peeling green paint.

Room 1246. That was what the spirits told her. _Riverside Motel_ – yeah, smart! She hadn't seen a single river for miles! – room 1246.

She hesitated for a moment, her heart thumping like crazy. Oh hell, after almost a twelve-hour drive it was a little too late to turn back. She pursed her lips tight feeling a little dizzy – probably because of lack of sleep and an excessive consumption of caffeine, and finally reached out to knock.

The knock on the door came together with the referee's whistle making Dean all but jump in his seat. He span around and stared at it, arm reaching for the gun on an instinct. He put down the beer and grabbed the remote to mute the TV.

Sam? Well, actually, could be. Possibly. Dean hadn't heard from him for a while but it didn't mean… Could be Castiel, too. Maybe he finally learned how to knock instead of making that hocus-pocus of his with jumping out of nowhere when he least expected. That – Dean knew – he might as well be grateful for. It would probably save him a great deal of nerves and gray hair.

The thing was, the place like that didn't exactly have room service to expect. Oh, well, he could still hope for it anyway.

The door burst open nearly hitting Dean on the face the moment he turned the door knob, and then something fierce and fast and pretty furious came crushing in on, "This is sick, Dean!"

Not Sam. Not even Castiel as he secretly half-hoped because it normally meant long boring crap and yet the minimum of problems.

Bela.

She marched past him and turned around when she reached the center of the room to look at him, her eyes flaring and brows furrowed.

"You barging in here and ruing my exciting night?" He mustered a chuckle as best he could and shook his head. Dear Lord, he wished he could rub at his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things or something. "I couldn't agree more." Okay, honestly he had no idea what exactly she meant but it was getting interesting.

Bela snickered at his comment, then gave the room the appreciative look, noted a pile of old news-papers, a stack of plastic glasses and two beds – one undoubtedly untouched, a pair of dirty jeans lying atop the faded cover. Small nightstand squeezed between the beds was covered in several paper-bags from the nearest take-away. Absently, she wondered what the place looked like in the daylight, with the sun streaming through the old curtains. If only it was actually making a way in through the washed off cloth at all. Not that it was a problem of hers. She spotted a turned-on laptop on the table and the TV showing a football game perched on some metallic construction in the corner under the very ceiling.

So homey!

"Yeah, I see you're having quite a party here," she wrinkled her nose at the smell of dust, booze and desperation. Kept looking around to avoid meeting his eye slightly bothered by the second that Dean Winchester was now standing between her and the door. She didn't like it, annoyed by the fact that she was probably losing her grip here. The urge to flee became almost overwhelming.

"Low standards," he shrugged nonchalantly, not at all offended by her implications.

She looked tired, he noticed. Yeah, furious too, and possibly a step away from pointing her gun at him in that charming manner of hers, but tired all the same. These dark circles under her eyes… Dean looked away and out the window at the neon sign flickering on the other side of the parking lot visible between the curtains like it had become something extremely interesting by the second. It was none of his business anymore. He shouldn't be giving a damn.

It was weird to see that she remained the same classy bitch, at least externally, even after... Weird and somewhat sobering. "So, you were what, just passing by and had no other place to stop for the night?" He asked, all elegance, and graced her with a cheeky smile.

"What?" Bale gave a place another once-over. "Over my dead body!" Her disbelief was so whole-hearted that Dean couldn't help but squint. Finally, she forced herself to look him in the face. Tried to see past her memories…

"So, what do I owe the honor to?"

"Tell your friends to back off, or I swear to God, the next time I won't hesitate to pull the trigger."

Dean blinked processing her words. Replayed them in his head once again in case he missed something, but no, it still wasn't making nay sense.

"I guess it means you're finally out of your mind," he said in the end. "Cute!"

"I am dead serious," Bela growled.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about," Dean snorted. God, the very fact of her showing up here was more than enough to turn everything upside down. She couldn't possibly expect him to actually _think_! "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm a little busy here--" he started, but then she was talking, too.

And yeah, she knew how to catch him off-guard. "Who is Castiel?"

Dean froze, eyes pinned to the suspicious spot on the carpet he kept ignoring ever since he moved in, feeling his heart plummeting to the bottom of his stomach.

"What?" He straightened up frowning.

"You heard me!" She snapped. "Who is Castiel, Dean?"

Finally, Dean managed to gain his composure back. Arched one brow at her, even.

"Why? Didn't he introduce himself? Shocking! Actually, the dude's good at that. All grave and '_I'm an angel of the Lord'_," he hoped his imitation was close to the original.

In his mind though, he was still confused. Why would Cas…?

"Who the hell is he?" Bela repeated slowly looking at Dean as if he was mentally damaged.

"An angel," he said in a voice that most people used when talking to children – patient and a little cautious.

Bela pursed her lips tight and glared daggers at him wishing with all her heart that the power of mind could actually kill. "Stop it!"

"What now? You wanted the friggin' answer, and here it is!"

"There is no such thing as angels."

"And who told you that?"

The regarded each other for a long moment.

"And you call _me_ crazy?" Bela scoffed in the end. "Whatever, Dean, really. Just stay away from me, and tell your friend that he is _so_ dead if I ever see him again."

She strode past him to the door and it was hard to miss that she kept avoiding his eyes as much as possible. Kept the distance between the two of them, too, as if there actually was a physical barrier that prevented her from coming any closer, and all but sucked in her belly when coming closer was inevitable. Her shoulders went stiff when she had to turn her back to him but apparently backing all the way to the door was simply impossible for her dignity. Dean let out a sigh when all this registered in his mind. She hated him, and apparently was scared of him, too. And he couldn't even blame her for it.

His own shoulder slumped in defeat. He rubbed tiredly on his face. Good start, huh? Five minutes, and they already all but cut into each other's throats.

"He really is an angel," he said in a dull voice, and chuckled softly to himself. "With wings and stuff. Don't let the coat and the looks deceive you." Waited for her to turn around. "I've never seen the halo but I bet it can be found somewhere in the pocket."

"It is not funny. It is mean, Dean."

"Truth hurts," he shrugged.

"Oh, please…" she rolled her eyes.

"He's the one who brought you back from…" he blurted interrupting her and then trailed off when it turned out that he'd probably went a little too far. Cleared his throat and dropped his eyes suddenly finding his shoes endlessly fascinating.

Well, he might have as well punched her in the gut, Bela thought, and yet he wouldn't have achieved a better effect.

She froze feeling as if something had just sucked out all the air from the room. She could barely breathe, the blood hammering loud in her ears making her pretty much deaf to the entire world. Her consciousness kept clinging on to the simple things that she thought were normal, ordinary and familiar, but the thoughts, guesses and assumptions that she forced back as best she could were thrown right in her face blinding her, driving her crazy all over again.

Bela swallowed hard.

"What are you talking about?"

Dean's smirk was rueful, and he wasn't looking at her either when he replied, "Well, you didn't think that one could make it out for the good behavior or something, did'ya?" Kinda sending her hopes for all of this to be a joke far, far away.

"So, you're saying he's actually an… an…"

"An angel," Dean nodded regretting he brought the thing up. "It took me a lot longer to get that. You're having a damn good progress."

Bela felt her head spinning. "Why would an angel or… whatever want to help me out?"

Dean felt his insides twist into a tight knot. "I though you were going to leave," he waved a hand at her, a dismissive gesture he hoped she'd get fast. "You know where the door is."

The images filled his mind again. The images of Bela before. The sparkle in the eyes, the bold smirk, vital energy he could feel coming from her. And then they were washed away by something else. The memories of Bela in hell, crying, begging, in blood and in pain. The first time he saw her on the rack. The first time she saw him, pure horror in her eyes. He'd seen her a moment before, watching Alastair. There was a dare and hatred, not animal fear. He wished she hated him then, wished she resented him to pieces because it would make his job easier, a lot easier. But hell wasn't exactly the place for the easy things, and Dean knew why Alastair brought him to her. That was the moment when something broke inside him forever…

And then there was the night she came back, scared and confused, and there was the same fear again. Like maybe she had decided back then that he was her personal curse. Dean's insides twisted at the thought of all the pain he caused her.

"So typical of you, Dean!" Suddenly, her anger was beyond her control and pouring out before Bela had time to think. "Why can't you make it simple for once and just answer my question?"

"Why can't _I_ make it simple for once?" He snapped his head up, expression of shock and disbelief on his face. "Why couldn't _you_ make it simple for starters? Mm, Bela? Why all those secrets and half-murmured lies? Why not tell the truth?"

"It is not what we're talking about."

"Why not?" It was just past him to stop now even if he knew in the back of his mind that they were both walking on thin ice. "If you just came and told us everything, if only you didn't steal the bloody Colt, none of us would have to die." He bellowed.

Bela took a small step back as if he had slapped her on the face, felt the chill run down her spine at the sight of him being enraged like that. Like he was going to… turn in _the_ Dean she remembered best of all.

Wrong turn. Okay, fine, he had probably gone too far this time because it was a little more complicated than that, but now it was too late to turn back. And… hell, he was so tired of feeling damn guilty all the time!

"Don't you dare blame me for what had happened," she said in a low voice hoping it didn't tremble.

"Why didn't you just explain all that mess?"

"Because I couldn't! Don't you understand?" Bela exclaimed. "My past, my life… It wasn't something to brag about and from where I was standing… you'd laugh in my face and I doubt it would help the matters."

"I would never…"

"You want the truth, Dean? You really want to hear it all? Fine! So let's just face it. Yes, I made the deal, and I swear I would make it again had I gone back in time because you know what? My life in hell after death was worth getting out of it while I was alive. You don't know how I felt, and you have no idea what it felt like to live like that, day after day for years. So go to hell and don't you dare blame me for anything. Especially for not opening up to you."

The pause followed during which they just stared at each other, the tension so think in the air that it felt like the electric charge could run between the two of them any moment.

"Don't you put the words in my mouth," Dean broke the silence at last. "You couldn't know--"

"How do you imagine it, for God's sake? Me coming to you and saying '_Could you please help me wiggle out of the deal I made to kill my mommy and daddy?_' Oh yeah, right, you'd forget about the connotations to save me, sure!"

"You could have friggin' explained!" He shot back.

"No, I couldn't!" There was plea for understanding in her voice now. "I couldn't," she repeated softer making Dean's insides jump up to his throat twisting with pain. He hurried to look away, which only made Bela feel much worse. She chuckled bitterly under her breath, all _I knew it would be like that_. "You know what, Dean? You're so full of damn prejudices that you can't see anything but you want to see. So why didn't I tell you a word? Only because I thought I'd rather die the way I died than let you make fun of me. I didn't want you to judge my life and least of all I wanted to become an amusing episode in yours."

They watched each other for a very long moment. The game on TV came to an end and the news block started instead. Someone turned on the music in the neighboring room. The car's engine roared outside. But all the sounds remained on periphery.

"It is flattering to know hat it was how you thought of me," he smirked, and the smirk lacked any actual humor.

"You never gave me the reason to think any other way," Bela retorted gravely.

"Yeah, and you were all so nice and trusting!" He snapped. "You do remember that you hadn't said a word of truth ever since we met, do you? When you were alive I mean. If only I knew you'd actually need some torture to finally reveal the truth…"

Thin ice cracked.

Bela took a deep breath to try and calm down instead of giving in to the panic attack, not feeling her own nails digging into gentle flesh of her palms. It wasn't easy to fight the images that started filling her mind at Dean's words.

"Look," he started in a lousy attempt to back off and find the words to apologize so that they wouldn't look like an apology. She looked hurt, and he hated himself for it.

"I need to know how I got back, Dean" she interrupted him. "I spent half of my life waiting for someone to come and claim my soul, and if you think that I will ever let anything like that happen again… because this salvation looks like a too serious gift--"

"You have nothing to worry about."

"Yes, I have, and it is not an answer! Why would anyone, leave alone an angel, save me?"

"Seriously, Bela…" he winced. "You're alive and no one's going to come for you. Unless of course you go and piss off someone big, bad and scary, which I am sure will happen sooner or later. Other than that, you're good."

"Why, Dean?" She pressed on.

"It doesn't matter!"

"Yes, it does! For God's sake, why?"

He huffed through his nose, irritated like hell by that very moment, wanting to say something sharp and smart and quick back, like that it was none of her business, or that she could have been a lot more grateful, or that he didn't want to say anything at all just because.

"Because I asked him, okay?" He retorted instead, surprising himself. "Because the bloody war is coming and I said the winged dude that I wouldn't so much as lift my finger to help him save the world until he goes and drags your precious ass back to life. Is that what you wanted to hear, Bela? Happy now?" He paused, breathless, somewhat drained by his sudden outburst.

Bela gaped at him, shocked and taken aback by the utterly unimaginable information, her mind refusing to take in and process his words.

She swallowed hard watching the annoyance appearing on his face. He grabbed the remote from the chair as if he needed to occupy himself somehow but then tossed it away almost immediately and it landed on the bed. It didn't look like flipping through the channels on TV was the most appropriate thing to do.

"You did _what_?" She asked slowly after what looked like an eternity. "I don't believe it," let out a short nervous laugh, and ran her fingers through her hair. "You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding." And then, "Brilliant! Now I owe my life to Dean Winchester," when he scowled at her in response. "Of all people in the world…"

Dean's mouth fell open in shock. "So this is what comes for '_Oh, thank you for brining me back from hell?'_" He mimicked her in girly high-pitched voice. "Never mind, really. Don't even mention it!" He bellowed. "Not that anyone would ever expect you to."

Bela put her hands on her hips. "I guess it means I should wait for the bill to arrive some time soon?" She cocked her head to her shoulder, face curious and voice mocking. "Not that I can't afford you services."

He gave her a long once over feeling pained by the second at the thought that she saw no other way of dealing with the things except for paying for them. Besides, it wasn't exactly the reaction he saw coming. Yeah, well, he didn't expect much, but _this_?

"I did it because I couldn't leave you behind after…" _after what I did to you… after what I've been doing for years… after what I've learnt about you_. "After what had happened, you ungrateful bitch."

"I didn't ask you to help me, Dean," she pointed out, and by the end of the phrase her voice dropped.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. Looked at the door behind her back and then again at her face. "But you always expected me to."

"Keep believing that if you want."

She turned around and walked out of the room, slammed the door behind her and totally missed Dean's wince.

He started at the door for a very long moment, the echo of it shutting behind her back sounding in his head, and then heaved a deep sigh and rubbed at his eyes feeling exhausted like never before in his life, their fight seemed to take too much out of him. Numb in a way he hadn't felt in a while already, and it didn't feel right. Nothing felt right anymore. So, was there any chance at all for someone to show up and tell him what to do next? Because it didn't look like a good start to him.

Dean shook his head. Ridiculous.

His thoughts were a chaos, his feeling were a mess – a knot of anger at himself and at her for showing up like that, ruining whatever he managed to become; of pity and guilt, of pain that he wanted to believe had dulled a little over the months that had passed since he got back. But no, she was there, and he was lost again.

He needed to go and close the door properly, he thought absently. It was probably the only thing that was making any sense at the moment.

Dean crossed the room and walked up to the door. The smell of Bela's perfume still lingered in the air and he breathed in gently flower scent. Scolded at the warm feeling that it caused, and refused to hold on to it. It was oddly familiar, too frighteningly familiar, and he didn't want to even start thinking about it.

He reached out for the door chain but then the door suddenly burst open letting Bela back in. She hesitated for the barest of moments to meet his eyes, probably surprised to find him right before her, but the next moment her arms wrapped around Dean's neck pulling him closer, and her lips were on his, and before he knew, he was kissing her back with desperate hunger. Her hands raked trough his hair, and in the back of her mind she heard him letting out a soft groan, of surprise or satisfaction she didn't know.

Bela kicked the door closed behind her, clinging on to his shoulders, pulling down his button-up flannel shirt. Her fingers slipped under his black cotton t-shirt and found hot skin of his chest. Dean jolted at her touch but didn't pull back sending inward thrill through Bela's body. His hands traveled down her arms and around her back, pulling her against him, holding her tight.

"Bela," he breathed out, his voice hoarse and throaty.

"Please," she whispered clutching on to his shirt, scared all of a sudden that he would turn around and walk away. "Please, Dean… I need to start _feeling_…"

***

"Damn it," Bela muttered when she kicked the leg of the chair with her toes while groping her way through the darkened room in desperate search for her clothes. Her coat at the moment, to be specific. Winced in pain and cursed in her mind.

It was some time around dawn already; she could see the graying sky on the east and it felt like about time to get out.

If only she could find the bloody coat, she thought tossing the strands of hair away from her face. Fighting the feeling of uncertainly and guilt, not at all sure by the moment it was a good idea to give in to the momentary impulse after all. Like her life wasn't complicated enough! She might have as well given him a call…

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"There you are," Bela breathed out soundlessly when she spotted the said object of her clothing lying on the floor by the door, reached out to pick it up…

"Leaving just like that, Bela?" The voice asked behind her back, startling her and making her all but swirl around to find Dean standing some two feet away from her. "How about a goodbye note?"

"Jesus, Dean! Do you really have to do that?" She was _that_ close to having a heart attack!

"Do what?"

"Sneak around like that," she growled, the annoyance growing inside of her. It was past her how he managed to be so damn quiet. Like some bloody cat! She could have sworn he was fast asleep a just minute ago.

Well, apparently he wasn't.

Right at the moment he was standing right before her, bare-chested and with the hair rumpled from sleep. Literary within arm's reach. Bela could practically feel the heat radiating from his body. Wished she slipped away sooner. She swallowed uneasily, torn between the urge to flee and a sudden desire to send everything to hell and stay, and scowled at herself for even contemplating the latter. And what if he actually asked…?

"Speaking of sneaking around…" Dean started arching his eyebrows pointedly.

"Let's not make a fuss about it, shall we?" The words came out of her mouth before Bela knew, her voice oddly cold and random. She made sure the wall between them was back, and watched him calmly, like she had already made the decision for the both of them and whatever he could say didn't really matter. Good thing, it was too dark for him to see her… blushing or something.

Oh, _whatever_, for God's sake! The room was rapidly getting too small for the two of them.

"Classy, Bela," he smirked.

"Goodbye, Dean." She yanked on her coat and grabbed her purse what was peacefully lying on the chair.

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

She regarded him for a moment. Debated snorting but it suddenly seemed too childish. Not that she actually hoped for anything other than that. In the end she just turned on her heels and left the room for good, feeling both very right and endlessly wrong at the same time. She still didn't have her answers and instead of untangling the knot and only made the whole situation a lot more complicated. Great!

Chilly air hit her in the face, filed Bela's lungs with cold freshness. She needed to get out, away from him, away from everything. Now!

_-- You can blame and you can hide_

_Behind what is wrong and what is right._

_Life is the choices we make,_

_I hope you'll awake before it's too late._

"_The last time" by Within Temptation--

* * *

_

**To be continued…**

Reviews are always love!**  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: **It takes me ages to update, and I'm really sorry. The next time won't be soon, unfortunately, although I hope sooner than even I expect LOL *lost myself here*

Anyways, hope you'll like the chap ))) Make sure you read to the end ;)

As I decided to make this story a song-fic, then don't be surprised to find pieces of lyrics in the beginning of each chap.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_-- __A phrasing that's a single tear,_

_It's harder than I ever feared  
And you were left feeling so alone.  
Because these days aren't easy  
Like they have been once before  
These days aren't easy anymore_

"_Why" by Secondhand Serenade--_

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean breathed into the receiver.

"_I am dead serious, Dean,"_ Bobby grumbled, and yeah, he did sound serious enough. _"Now would you please lift your precious ass and drag it to New Jersey? That would so make my day." _

"A haunting in the bookstore," Dean mumbled. "Are you sure about that? I mean if I actually had to work in the bookstore, like, 9 to 5, every day and all, I'd go crazy and cut my throat alright. But… you sure it's a ghost that's behind this?"

There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line as Bobby started flipping through the pages of something. Dean waited tapping his fingers on the table. His gaze rested on several old news-papers lying on the table. Never-touched news-papers he had to admit. They looked good in the overall mess of the room, like a very necessary part.

"_Five deaths in seven days,"_ Bobby said at last. _"People like you, who can cut the throat to themselves at the very thought of the bookstore, just don't go there, normally, so yeah, I think it's kinda our case. Why? Are you busy or what?"_

Dean pinched at the bridge of his nose. "No. No, I'm not. 'Course I'm not. It's just…" He trailed off. _Just what?_ He needed some distraction not to go crazy, and a new case would probably do better that anything else. "Okay, I'll be there. And Bobby…"

"_Call me if you need any details."_

"No. I mean, yeah, sure, but… have you heard anything?"

"_It's quiet, Dean." _There was either regret or exhaustion in his voice, Dean couldn't quite tell. _"Demon activity was low lately, so get yourself together, boy, and do what you're mean to do."_ And he hung up.

"To hunt the ghost of those who had freakin' died before they finished the last book of then _Star Wars_ series?" He shook his head. Oh well, who else could possibly haunt the bookstore?

He chuckled then. It was more like Sam's department. His was probably strip-bars.

But one thing Bobby was right about. Demons were exceptionally quiet, and he knew he'd go nuts if he stayed in the motel for another day. Besides, he wasn't that optimistic to believe that there was a chance he'd miss the beginning of all the fun. Sure thing, if something happened, Cas would know where to find him.

***

So… the bookstore! It looked dark and empty from the outside, not that Dean expected anything else some time around midnight. Empty and somewhat creepy too. Too quiet. It was a geek boy's work, he thought against his will. Sam would probably never find a place stuffed with all sorts of books creepy. For Dean it was just… weird.

It wasn't too big, but not small enough to check it out in one sweep of a glance either.

Dean left the Impala in the alley, lest it be spotted by some curious by-passers and broke into the store through the back door turning off the security system. He smirked. It was just too easy, almost like a joke. Who in their right mind would want to come here uninvited, anyway? Oh, well, except for him. But it was different.

The bookstore was located on the ground floor of the apartment building and Dean was fully aware of the need to make as little noise as possible. It wouldn't help much if someone called the police.

The place was old-fashioned and all decorated in polished wood – the shelves, the counter, the window frames and even the panels on the walls. This, he thought absently, was probably what the bookstores looked like a century ago. Homey and cozy. And it smelled nice, too. Of the lemon furniture polish and something… something that surprisingly reminded him of the childhood and those times when dad was taking him and Sam to the library with him to make some research for the case. Like, before Internet won the world. When they still were family.

The memory caused a bitter feeling and Dean hurried to wave it off willing himself to concentrate on here and now. Using the flashlight didn't sound like a very good idea as it could also draw unnecessary attention. All in all, the light coming through the big windows was enough but the corners and far rows of bookshelves were all covered in thick shadows, and that could be a problem, he thought.

And it was quiet, too, especially for the place located nearly in the center of the city. It seemed like all the sounds – the cars, the voices, the usual noises of a big city, which seemed to exist all by themselves – were gone, as if the windows were shielding the small store from the rest of the world. Dean was listening so intensely that his head hurt but there was nothing, not even the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. And yeah, he had this feeling that someone was trying to burn a hole in his back with their gaze but every time he chanced a glance over his shoulder, there was nothing. It was irritating.

Not that he never worked alone. In fact, he did. For years. When Sam was already gone to college and after their dad had decided that separately they could cover more ground. But now, after having Sam by his side for the last couple of years, it wasn't the same. He just couldn't help but wish that his brother just materialized beside him to cover his back in case something big and scary jumped at him out of the darkness.

Imagining it gave Dean a nervous chuckle though. Had Sam actually did something like that, his big brother would probably seriously freak out. Sure, Cas and Sam's demonic girlfriend were good at that, but then they weren't exactly _human_. And no matter what he knew of Sam, he still wanted to believe that his brother _was_ a human being.

Dean reached the end of the row and cautiously poked his head from the isle to observe the front-door area. His gaze traveled past the check-out counter – computer perched on top of it was probably the only thing in the entire place that reminded him of the fact that he was still in the XXI century – and water dispenser to the half-glassed door with that absolutely irreplaceable bell hanging above it to ding every time someone went in or out. The right corner was occupied by the wiry magazine and postcard holders. The left one was too dark to make out what was placed there.

"Comic books," Dean grinned when he spotted a stack of them lying on top of the counter.

He ducked when the car passed by outside and the light of the headlights swept across the store's hardwood floor.

_Here's to working alone_, he thought ruefully. It was either that, or admitting that he was getting jumpy, and he, personally, preferred the first.

He crossed relatively open and unsafe space of the check-out area and dove into yet another isle, which was the science fiction section, if the names and pictures on the book covers were any indication. Smirked under his breath. The section with the demonic history and ritual books sounded more like his kind of the bookstore's area than that. Oh, well, whatever.

"Oh, come on!" He whispered addressing who-the-hell-ever might be hiding in the shadows. "Come out already."

He made another step forward and felt chilly air run down his spine, literary speaking. A familiar thrill went through his body. Dean never knew what exactly was always making the hunt so damn exciting for him – the fearlessness that was the result of John Winchester's approach to brining his kids up or just mere knowledge that he knew that there always was a way to destroy the nasty stuff, sooner or later. And here it was again. The cold spot – a 99% guarantee of the ghost presence.

"Here you are," Dean drawled, all alert now, and couldn't help but smirk a little. He peered into the darkness with intensity and… eventually rose his eyes up to spot an air gate right above him. The blinders were open and relatively cold air was blowing right at his head. "Oh, damn," he cursed softly because he just got that 1% probability of another explanation of the cold spot. "Okay, fine!" Lowered his shot-gun and reached into his pocket for the EMF-meter.

He turned the small gadget on. It creaked loudly, all small lamps flaring bright red in his face. Dean frowned. "What the…?"

And then he lifted his head up, and he saw her.

The woman was standing in front of him, some five meters down the isle. She was wearing an old-fashioned brown-and-white high-collared dress. Her hair hung loose in untidy strands around her face, which had an unnaturally grayish color. She looked rather displeased, or so the furrowed brows and thin line of her pale lips said. Even her small hands were balled into tiny fists to make the image complete. For a moment Dean even thought that had it been possible, she would probably have smoke coming out of her nostrils.

He had no doubt that she was a ghost. Dean could have ignored her crazy looks and the fact that she shouldn't have been in the shop that late in the evening. Weirder things happened, after all. But he could hardly miss it that he could almost clearly see the painting hanging on the opposite wall – right through her. It was probably the creepiest part of his job, even after all those year. The most surreal one.

"Here you are, sweetheart!" Dean's lips quirked into a small satisfied smile. "Nice to see you."

For a moment they kept looking at each other, and then suddenly the woman opened her mouth wide and let out a dreadful sound – a mixture of pain and anger – that was so loud that for a moment Dean feared that she might have deafened him. She lurched herself at him, eyes glowing slightly with that special energy no living being was capable of demonstrating just like that.

Almost instinctively Dean cocked his shot gun and fired. The scream died when the load of rock-salt went through the semi-transparent body.

"Here you go," he muttered fighting the wish to try and clear his ears because the scream was still echoing in his brain, which wasn't the best of feelings. "I always knew that places like that could drive you nuts, but this? Jesus! That was loud."

So, this was probably some old and pretty pissed off book-store seller or something like that, and now all he had to do was to find her body… probably hidden somewhere in here, or so he hoped, although the idea was creepy, and then salt and burn it to help the woman rest in peace, or whatever. Yeah, weirder things happened, but this freakin' book-worm was nearing the Top ten of them.

He felt the flow of cold air run down the back of his head and then his spine. Much colder than the air from the ventilation system. It felt more like a cascade of chilly needles touching his skin. And Dean knew at once what he was going to see if he turned back.

Slowly, he did turn. And she was standing right in front of him. So close that even in the dim light of the streetlamp that were barely making its way to where they both stood he could see her thin papery skin, hollow cheeks and sharp cheekbones. Mesmerized by the angry glow in her eyes, Dean missed the moment when she reached out for him again, her nails sharp and looking more like pointy claws. One more thing a living being would never have.

His reaction was fast though. She had barely grazed the skin on his cheek when Dean lifted his arm to protect his face but not fast enough to duck away, and the next moment hot pain shot through his shoulder, as if four sharp knives slashed him. In the back of his mind he registered the sound of the tearing cloth and then something warm started and sticky started spreading down his arm, soaking through the sleeve.

"Bitch!" Dean snapped when a quick glance down revealed several long gashes. "It was my favorite shirt!"

***

It was a persistent ringing of the speakerphone in the hall near the door that mercilessly dragged Bela out of what was yet another nightmarish dream – the one you forgot completely upon opening your eyes but that always was leaving you with uneasy feeling for the rest of the day – at about five in the morning. it was hard to decide whether she was annoyed or glad that it happened, and honestly, it was past her how she managed to hear it at all, what with her being so damn exhausted. What with the bloody dreams being so hard on letting her go.

It wasn't making the ringing less unwanted though. She grumbled something unintelligible and rolled over to bury deeper into the softness of her bed willing the annoying sound to disappear. Groped blindly for the second pillow lying on the other side of the bed intending to put it atop of her head to mute the rest of the world before she started to panic or imagine things… or whatever. She heaved a sigh and shut her eyes tight. _Demons don't ring_, Bela reminded herself. _No, they never ring_.

For a moment everything was quiet, and she even dared to guess that the whole ringing thing never happened. But as soon as she started drifting away into the dreamland again, her mobile came to life emitting what seemed to be terrible loud noises somewhere on the night-stand to the left from her. Bela growled desperately and reached out to grab it. Dropped a stack of letters that were lying nearby waiting for her attention to the floor and scowled. Forced her eyes open…

The called ID read – Dean Winchester.

The ringing stopped before she had time to hit the answer button but started the second go-around almost immediately. As always, Dean was a little too persistent for politeness.

"What again?" She croaked by means of a greeting and despite the leap of her heart, still trying hard to focus, her voice hoarse from sleep, and so is her mind.

There was some weird noise on the other end of the line before, "_Again?_" She could swear he wanted to say something else, but then only, "_Let me in!_" came.

"What?" Bela propped herself up on one elbow and blinked when her eyes rested on the alarm clock. "Do you have any idea what time is it?"

"_Honestly? No clue_."

"So I see. It's five in the morning, for Christ's sake! Go hit the rack somewhere else." She flopped back onto the pillows and rubbed sleepily at her eyes, her thoughts a mess. It was hard to imagine why would Dean need to come to her.

"_Open the damn door_," he growled.

It was tempting to hang up on him, Bela thought somewhat mischievously. More than just tempting. She could have turned off the phone and ignore the door long enough to pretend it was just a background noise, annoying but meaningless.

But instead she sighed cursing Dean Winchester personally and the rest of the world in general in her mind. "Hold on."

She did hang up then. Left the cozy confines of her bed and staggered into her slippers not bothering to turn on the lights. The air coming through the open window was cool and fresh. She grabbed her housecoat and dragged it on while groping her way down and then across the hall. Reached out to turn on the reading lamp in the living room and yawned, squinting.

God knew, it was a bad idea to let Dean in and she was aware of it. Hopefully, it wasn't the end of the world that brought him here, and if not, then she would probably be able to get rid of him within then next five minutes. Hell, she didn't want to have anything to do with whatever crap he got himself into this time.

Bela buzzed him in and then hovered by the door, all but hopping in the narrow corridor while waiting for him to come up. Propped it open when she heard the footsteps outside and gave him a lazy once-over. "You look like crap," she stated without any actual sympathy.

Not that anyone would ever take the truth as an offence.

"Nice to see you, too," he snorted and shouldered past her into the apartment.

"Whatever," she muttered locking the door behind him. "So, what do you want now? Spare bedroom? Coffee? Breakfast? Massage?" Bela asked following him into the living room, her voice rich with sarcasm. "Room service is not available at this hour, I'm sorry."

She folded her arms o the chest when he looked at her over his shoulder. Keeping her voice light and like nothing mattered was a little harder than she had expected.

Bed idea, she thought momentarily. It was a dangerous territory she suddenly found herself on. After all…

She never got to finish her thought though.

"Some light and hot water would be fine, thank you," Dean's voice was rather tense, even past irony.

His answer took her by surprise. "Some… what? Are you serious?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I'm kidding or what?"

"Let me think… You barge in here at five in the morning asking for hot water." She made a meaningful pause. "Yeah, sounds like a Winchester-style joke to me. No offence."

"None taken. You do have kettle, don't ya?"

It was the stupidity of the question that made Bela notice that he looked and moved a little weird. He was holding his duffel bag in his left hand that hung limp down along his body while his right hand was holding tight onto the left shoulder, and there was… oh, damn!

"You've got blood over there, Dean," she observed fighting to sound careless although her mouth had suddenly gone dry like sand-paper. For some reason she couldn't quite look calmly at blood anymore. Or maybe there was reason after all.

"Aw, really?" Dean scoffed. "Wow! It slipped past me, believe it or not." Shook his head and added. "You didn't think I came to have a small talk or something, did you?"

"You came for some hot water, I got that."

"I couldn't check in anywhere bleeding like that," he grumbled, and it was hard to miss it that he liked the idea of bothering her as much as she loved to be bothered like that.

It wasn't the most pleasant discovery though. It made Bela scowl even. "And you decided to come here and bleed all over my place. Cute! Actually, I'm honored. Really, Dean. It proved such deep trust, or whatever." And then as an afterthought, "You could have visited the hospital, you know. Just for a change."

"Funny."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Dean!" She crossed that four meters between them and grabbed his duffel from his hand. "You can put that down, really." Not because he was all gray and probably barely standing, and definitely not because she cared that he looked terrible and not exactly comfortable standing before like that, somewhat vulnerable and utterly uneasy. "I'm not going to try and check what you've got in there. Scout's honor!"

For the barest of moments their fingers touched and Dean let go of the bag's handle as it seemed to be the only was to jerk his hand away without actually jerking it away. Bela didn't seem to notice it though, or so it looked. She just tossed the bag onto the floor near the couch without so much as respect for his belongings. Dean glared at her for good measure but she either let it go past her, or simply ignore it.

"They would never take you in to be a scout-girl. That usually required some morality to be one. And I… I don't need your help," he sounded defensive and he didn't like it, but it was hard to control it, too. "I'm fine, just…"

"I'm not going to help you," she snorted like it was the most insulting assumption ever. Actually, she wouldn't really mind if he just left, or better – never came at all. "What I am going to do is go back to sleep. I'm sure you'll be absolutely fine all on your own."

"Sure," he muttered waving his injured hand at her, his good hand still clutching on his shoulder. The dismissing gesture flexed his muscles and escalated the bleeding, which made Dean wince inwardly.

"Do try not to bleed on the furniture," Bela made a face at him, but he ignored her entirely.

Of course, it was impossible to fall asleep again, and it became clear way too soon. First, she was too awake already, like after several cups of the strongest espresso. Her thoughts were a chaos she wasn't sure she was capable of coping with. Leave alone the fact that she was lying in the bed with the blanket over her head and fought the overwhelming wish to go and barricade the door because the very thought of sleeping in a place where she wasn't all alone was nearly unbearable. The only thing that actually stopped her from doing it from the start was the idea of what it would look like if Dean came up and found out what she did. Her reputation and dignity simply didn't let her to even consider it as a possibility.

And second, it was absolutely foolish to even dream of falling asleep in all the terrible noise that was coming from downstairs. Even with the door to her bedroom shut tight she could still hear Dean rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, the metallic sound of the pans and dishes being moved from place to place was loud enough to raise dead from their graves. He was cursing soundly, too. Either from pain, or because he didn't know how to use the faucet, or whatever. All in all, he did nothing to appreciate her not throwing him out, cut and bleeding. Ungrateful, arrogant, self-minded…

Plus, it was almost killing to think of her Persian carpet that could be completely destroyed because of someone who didn't give a damn. It wasn't mean to be treated the way Dean treated things, especially the things that did not belong to him. Besides, she did have valuables all over her apartment, and didn't want him to sneak out with some of them, even if the most priceless items were kept securely in the safe of her bedroom.

Bela sighed. Tossing and turning wasn't making any good to her, she decided at last. Whereas coffee could actually make it up somehow. Maybe she could even force him out by hanging around. Knew it would be annoying, and didn't she have the right to be annoying? _Another ruined night, here I come! _

She got up once again. Changed into jeans and a plain long-sleeved t-shirt. Considered making her looks more decent but then only ran the hairbrush through her hair several times. She was at home, after all! At six in the morning! And she could look however she liked here.

The lights were on in the living room and kitchen area now. Dean's jacket lay in the armchair and Bela's first thought was – _You'd better pray it is clean!_ His duffel was unzipped and she couldn't help but chance a quick look inside to find a spare pair of jeans, a knife and something she wasn't sure she wanted to know about.

As for Dean, he was half-buried in one of the cabinets above the sink digging fondly through the contents. Bela came up right in time to catch a pack of coffee beans falling out of it. She gave him a glare thanking God mentally that it was just coffee and not her china… and what was he doing there, anyway?

He didn't acknowledge her approach by turning or something, but it definitely didn't go past him. The way his shoulders stiffened spoke volumes.

"What are you doing?" She asked with patient curiosity. And politely, too, Bela noted in her mind, instead of reminding him that he wasn't at home to behave however he liked. Oh, he didn't have home, right. Crappy motels – a new one each week – could hardly be qualified as one.

Okay, it was mean.

Dean shot her a quick look over his shoulder. "I told you I don't need you help."

"I didn't come to help you," she replied, all dignity. "Don't flatter yourself," added for good measure lest he thinks his injured state softened her a bit. "But you're destroying my kitchen. I want to save what's still left."

He snorted and turned away. "Why do you even keep all that crap and don't ever have some crackers?"

"Excuse me? Are you looking for… for crackers?" It wasn't easy to wrap her mind around that. "Are you crazy?"

"I'm nervous, and bleeding. It weakens me, that's why I want crackers."

A can of spices fell out following the coffee and Bela barely had time to catch it before it hit the counter and its contents were spilled all over her kitchen.

"For heaven's sake, stop it!" She breathed out trying to ignore the fact that the gesture drew her even closer to him now. Like, very close. And maybe it was just her, but she could have sworn that he caught his breath, too. "I don't have any crackers. You can have… cereal, just get out of here."

"Nice place to keep this, I gotta say," his chuckle was unexpected, and before Bela had time to contemplate it, he retrieved something small, black and glittery from the cabinet.

She frowned and took a small involuntary step back feeling the chill go down her spine. Dean was holding her purse, one of a few she had to go with the cocktail dresses and heels. This particular one looked good with that small black dress with the open back… Bela fought the urge to shake her head in order to clear her mind physically.

"Give me that!" She snapped snatching the purse out of his hand, gave it a look and put it aside deciding to think of one thing at a time. Right at the moment 'one thing' to think of was the one that was bleeding. "Sit," she pointed towards the counter with several tall stools around it.

It was either his tiredness, or the look on her face that made Dean oblige without a word. His shoulder started to throb dully kinda making even breathing painful. All he wanted to do was to sit absolutely still and hold his breath for a while. And, God, he still had the prospect of taking his button-up off ahead of him. Thinking of his left sleeve and it being stuck to the wound made Dean flinch.

Trying to look annoyed as best she could, Bela took her time to fill and turn on the coffee machine casting quick sidelong glances at Dean from time to time. He said nothing, just watched her, which was shocking and somewhat unnerving.

After that she came up to him and checked on the contents of his medical kit lying on the counter. Rolled her eyes and walked to the bathroom to come back moments later with the leather bag that was her own medical kit – the one she "trusted" more.

Dean watched her manipulations warily, struggling with the wish to ask if she was going to use some dried frog legs or bat eyes or something else disgusting on him. More out of habit than to actually piss her off.

"I can cut this off," Bela offered and nodded towards his button-up.

"Mm? No. No, it's fine," Dean cleared his throat. "I can take it off."

He shook the right sleeve off of his good arm and then cursed his way through staggering out of the other one as Bela helped to slowly pull it down. She was gentle to his surprise, and maybe a little too concerned for someone who didn't care, or maybe it was just his blood-loss that led to some sort of delusion about who she really was, Dean reminded himself. Carelessly, she dropped the bloody and ruined shirt to the floor with the look of weird satisfaction on her face. Dean regarded her darkly but did not comment.

"So, how exactly did it happen to you, again?" She asked while rolling the remains of the short t-shirt sleeve up so that she could see the wound, which was three long and deep gashes with nasty looking edges. As if someone cut him with three knives at a time, she thought.

"It was the ghost," Dean winced and sucked in his breath when she ran a cotton pad along the perimeters on the cuts to clean up the dried blood. "Jesus."

"I doubt he'll help you," she replied absently. "A ghost then. It was angry."

"Kinda," he shrugged.

"Don't move," she growled.

He met her glare with a somewhat sheepish expression forcing her to heave a sigh, her face all – _What a dolt!_

"It was a ghost of a nerdy woman from the bookstore," he continued, more to distract himself from the painful procedure than anything else. Not that Bela asked for the details.

"What did you do to piss her off? Had a date and then never called back?"

Unexpectedly, Dean chuckled. Cast a sidelong look at her registering that the corners of her lips were slightly up, too. "Little nerdy book-worms are not my department, they are more Sam's type, y'know. " He said softly, and then regretted bring up the theme the next moment.

Because Bela surely would never let it slip. It was in her nature to detect the weakest spots and then hit them right in the middle where it hurt most.

And she simply couldn't not to ask. "Speaking of Sam… Where is he?" Reached out for the bandages. "Logically, it should've been him stitching you up right now, not me."

"Stitching?" Dean whipped his head around frowning to stare at his wound. It didn't look pretty, true, but…. Stitching?!

"Relax, Dean, it's not _that_ bad." She gave him a small reassuring smile, and her voice was soft, too. And he hated it so much when she spoke to him like he was someone mentally incompetent! "Still, you didn't answer my question." And yeah, she wasn't someone to be easily distracted.

It was so damn easy to ignore her, or better to tell her to back off or something.

"We're not in the best of terms with Sam right now," Dean said instead hoping she's get it that he didn't exactly want to go deeper indo the details.

It wasn't like _'My brother has a fucking demon for a girlfriend' _was the thing he wanted to talk about anyway. Leave alone the fact that he couldn't quite think straight with her being around.

Dean swallowed and made an attempt to concentrate on something else… something neutral, for example. Tried to count in his mind.

Not that it worked… She was standing too close for comfort, and the fact that he could even smell the flowery scent of what probably was her shampoo didn't help matters much. The memory was just a little too fresh to wave it off. He could still remember the feel of her skin, the sound her whisper when nothing else mattered, the look in her eyes when he knew she was seeing no one but him in the whole wide world. And maybe it wasn't the best of the ideas to come here after all.

"I see," Bela drawled. Obviously, she was oblivious to the mess in his head. Thank God! "Sam decided to have his own grown-up life. And you decided to pay me a visit why, exactly?"

"It was convenient," Dean beamed at her. "See, I couldn't go to the hospital since they'd freak out and honestly, I doubt that they'd buy some grizzly attack story. As for the motel, I didn't like the idea of them charging me for the ruined towels or furniture, or whatever."

Bela arched an eyebrow in the elegant manner of hers.

"And I really, really needed to take care of that," he finished lightly.

"What makes you think I wouldn't charge you for the ruined night?" She snorted and finally started bandaging his shoulder, after finishing, like, a million of layers of smelly stuff.

He made some noise, a mixture of a chuckle and a scoff that she couldn't quite define.

And this was what Bela called the crash of standards. He was still Dean Winchester, the way she saw him from the start – a good hunter, a good man probably because she never had a reason to think otherwise, foolish to get into the trouble from time to time but smart enough to celebrate his 29th birthday. And then there was another Dean, black-eyes, cruel and merciless, who could emotionlessly cut out her heart without a blink. The Dean that knew about her past more than anyone was allowed to know. The only person that made her wish to either run away or put the wall between them so that he could never ever find a way to reach her. The only one she feared most, deep inside, because she never knew what to expect from him.

And yet here she was, playing doctors and nurses with him, pretending that nothing happened, trying to forget that he was the main figure in all of her nightmares that woke her up screaming every bloody night.

So yeah, crash of the standards. Leave alone the fact that she couldn't quite figure out why he exactly he was making her feel so safe and yet so unprotected at the same time when he was around.

"So, Bela," he started if a little uncertainly. Cleared his throat. "How's it, you know… going?"

She hesitated for a moment, caught by surprise.

"Good," replied after a little while. "Perfect even. I'm alive. Right now it's all that actually matters." Finished her job and finally dared to meet his eyes. "Do me a favor, Dean. The next time you come across something nasty, search for some other place to crash."

There was a pause then, during which they just stared at each other without moving, or even blinking.

He looked like crap indeed, Bela thought absently. Not because his jacket was all bloody and his button-up completely ruined, and no, and didn't quite want to know _what_ were the stains on his jeans. That, actually, wasn't surprising at all since the whole hunter's work wasn't the cleanest of all. God knew what he'd been through since morning. But she didn't remember seeing the lines around his eyes, not like that. And he _felt_ exhausted, as if he was trying to physically absorb any energy from the outside to keep his body functioning. Honestly, she couldn't imagine why he didn't pass out yet, being worn out like that.

All of a sudden she felt a little dizzy and light-headed. Lack of sleep, lack of coffee, too many thoughts… Weird. After what had happened in Montana she never thought a moment like that could ever happen again. He shouldn't have come. She had enough to deal with without adding yet another hell-refugee to it.

And she seriously hated him for that feeling he gave her, like she wasn't all alone. She knew she was. She knew it was just an illusion, something to believe in and to hold on to not to go crazy. But she kept grasping for it because she needed a break, just a small break before her demons came back again.

Bela didn't even realize that they were drawing closer - so close that she could even see amber spots in his green eyes – until Dean's cell phone started to ring and they literary jerked away from each other, startled. It was a miracle he didn't fell off that stool.

"I gotta…" Dean mumbled in a voice that was barely a whisper.

"Sure," she nodded not looking at him and started cleaning up all the mess as he reached for his cell with his good hand. Thought that this blood-soaked towel was ruined like hell…

It was Bobby, by the name of Claude Simmons on the caller ID. "Yeah, Bobby, I'm here," Dean breathed out into the receiver still not sure if it was a good or bad timing for Bobby to show up interrupting what could – or could not – have happened.

"_Dean, where the hell are you?"_ Bobby snapped, frustrated. _"You were supposed to give me a call, like, five hours ago."_

Oh, yeah, right. Dean rubbed at his forehead. Somewhere between being attacked by the crazy old broad, his insane idea of using Bela's place as ER and her not kicking him out he somehow forgot to call.

"Sorry, I… I meant to, really." He hoped he sounded as apologetic as he felt. "Something came up." Smooth!

"_You okay?"_ Now there was concern behind the grumble.

Deal looked down at what would probably become three neat scars pretty soon. "Yeah, never better."

"_And?"_

"She rests in peace, I swear."

"_Good."_ There was a pause before Bobby spoke again. _"Sam called."_

"Sam?" Dean was all alert at once, the worry ringing in his voice. "Is he…?"

"_Fine. He's fine. Just a touch base. To check if I was okay and all. To tell he was alive. I thought you'd want to know."_

"Oh," Dean cleared his throat hoping his disappointment wasn't hat obvious. "Sure. Thanks."

"_You've gotta make it up somehow, the two of you."_

"Yeah, maybe," Dean replied automatically. "Sure we will." Not that he actually believed it anymore. "It's Sam, right? Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam. Always been like that."

In wasn't hard to see Bobby nodding, in his mind.

"_What are you going to do now?"_

Dean snorted. "I've got a pack of winged asses breathing down my neck. Guess I'll see if I can be good for whatever divine plans they've got for me."

He hung up right in time with the high pitched beep of the coffee machine followed by Bela's soft, "Finally." Turned around to see her reaching out for the mug. The sky behind the window was steadily turning bluish-purple. Bela's cat came out from the corridor and climbed on the counter to sit beside him, its yellow eyes squinting and sleepy.

"Two sugars, please," Dean beamed when Bela graced him with a look over her shoulder.

She gave him a long once-over from head to toe, somewhat appreciative and amused at the same time.

"Don't make me comment on this," she scoffed.

He was about to comment on _that_ but then he saw it, a blur of a movement, out of the corner of his eye. All alert at once, Dean span around… and came face to face with Castiel, not more that a feet away from him. Too close for comfort, in fact. Especially when it wasn't expected.

"Jesus, Cas," he breathed out with relief and shook his head, his heart pounding loud against his ribs. "You're invading my personal space."

"Oh, no, not again!" That was Bela who could hardly miss the appearance of a new guest and there was a warning in her voice. Dean wondered if she was going to shoot an angel or something. She might, he had to admit it.

Castiel graced her with a long, somewhat examining look, but his face remained the same calm mask, which gave Bela creeps. Then he turned and his eyes traveled up and down Dean taking in the details, in the exactly same way hers did half a minute ago.

"You've got blood there," he said then, pointing to the bandage now marked with three red stripes of blood soaking through it with a nod.

"Gee, thanks!" Dean's voice was flat.

"We've got a problem."

* * *

**To be continued…**

Hopefully soon!

Now… another teaser: www. yourube. com /watch?v=UeLogqAtKQs *delete blank spaces*


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's notes:** You'd never believe… but I am here again!

First of all, I would like to thank you guys for being so patient, I know I hadn't update in ages and you support means a lot. Thanks for waiting. I hope you didn't give up on me because I definitely didn't. Well, at least you can have my word on one thing – if I am going to abandon this story, I will at least post it so that you wouldn't have to wait in vain, okay?

I am actually still in progress but I've got new job and my school is crazy, and some other stuff came up, and … life happens :)

Thanks a lot for all the reviews and your interest!

This one is short. Let's say, it's like a teaser before the following longer chapter that will hopefully be posted soon. Well, at least not half a year later like this one :)

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Dean blinked, confused. "You mean, like, more than _'Run away, everybody! The Apocalypse is coming!'_ problem?"

Castiel considered his words for a moment. "Related," he nodded at last and gave Bela another meaningful look, or something like that, assuming it was never easy to say what exactly he was feeling or thinking about.

"Oh, no!" She put her hands up. "Don't even look at me! We've got only on hero here, and I don't want…"

"It's not like you can say you're not in," Dean chuckled interrupting her. "The end of the world is _everyone's_ problem, sweetheart." He beamed at her, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment too long as if he was willing her to read something secret behind his words.

She kept her face blank though, and didn't look away first. Whatever it was this time, she was so not in it! God, she didn't want to even _know_ about it.

Dean gave her a glare and decided to ignore her for a while.

"What is it, Cas?"

Castiel paused before speaking. "It's Lilith. I know that one of the seals is. You need to stop her from breaking it."

Okay, it wasn't entirely unexpected, if there could be anything unexpected about their situation at all.

"You know where she is?" His voice was pretty much disbelieving.

"Lilith? No, but I know what she's looking for, so if you-"

"So if I find it first, blah, blah, blah," Dean stopped him practically all vibrant from anxiety. "What is it?"

"A book."

"A… _what_? A book?" This was insane. At least it sounded insane. "Like, paperback, pages and all?" He let out a short laugh. "Why would Lilith need a _book_?"

"Because it's not just a book, Dean," Bela rolled her eyes suddenly caught by the conversation.

"How do you know?" He whipped his head around, his eyes big, and then span to look at Castiel again not waiting for her reply. "How does she know? Is it true?"

"It is."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Dean, it is obvious, isn't it?" Bela shook her head, her expression condescending. "Lilith wouldn't be looking for a comic book. Otherwise I'm sure she'd know where to find you and borrow some."

He winced. Man, he hated it when she talked to him like _that_.

"That's right," Castiel's attention was all on Dean again. "This book… It's a very old one. Looks like a Bible, and many believe that it really is a Bible. Like a… first edition. But no one knows for sure because no one can translate it. It is believed that the book is written in one of the dead languages, one that never was known to the humankind. There are images – angels, and heaven, and even hell – the way humans see them. That's why it was mistaken for a Bible."

"But it is not." It wasn't a question.

"No, it isn't. It's a spell book written in cipher of some sort." An angel made another theatrical pause. "Heaven and hell spell book. There is a spell in it that can kill Devil himself."

"Seriously?" Dean's eyes grew wide.

"Absolutely. Lilith wants it because it is one of a few things on earth that can actually stop the apocalypse. If there is no Devil…"

"Then there's no on e to bring chaos and death," Dean finished for him. "Smart!"

"She doesn't underestimate you, Dean. That's why she considers the options. To leave you helpless in the end so that you had nowhere to turn."

"That was… huge. And not far from the truth I guess. The bitch is smart! I mean I'm flattered." Dean rubbed his face with both of his hands. "Okay, where is it? I find it, burn it, or hide it, or whatever."

"I don't know."

Dean's hands fell from his face. "You… what?" He blinked. "But you just said… you said you know, didn't you?"

"I said I knew what Lilith was up to. So, now you know. You have to find it before she did."

"How do you know she still doesn't have it?"

"Because we just know." Another voice answered before Castiel had time to response.

All three of them turned to see a slender red-headed woman standing at the couch. Her eyes stayed on Castiel's for a long moment before she turned to Dean.

"We know it because she is not using it against us yet," Castiel added to fill the silence.

"Anna," Dean cleared his throat and faked a smile.

And blushed a little, too. Bela's eyes narrowed and shifted from him to her and then back to him again. He was deliberately avoiding looking at her as his gaze slid around the room instead. And if by any chance she didn't know any better… Bela's lips twisted into a rather venomous smirk. Not that she cared of course…

"Hello, Dean," the girl – _Anna!_ Bela grimaced – greeted him in a calm voice. Looked at Castiel then, and after that – at Bela, too. "We've got a problem…"

Bela chuckled – just couldn't help herself, really. "Okay, what else is new?"

"Oh… Bela, this is Anna," Dean seemed to remember a tad belatedly that they weren't introduced yet. Not exactly. "She's an…"

"An angel," Bela interrupted him nodding. "I guessed. It wasn't hard, considering the whole teleportation thing and all. There seem to be some many of them around lately. It's like an open house in Heaven or what?"

Her eyes weren't on Anna though. Or on Castiel, speaking of that. She was looking at Dean probably trying to burn a hole in him, and making him wish she succeeded in it because then he would just endure an agonizing and painful death and could finally escape that glare. And for a moment there were just the two of them in the room, or at least so it felt, and no one dared to say a word.

"You have fun here," she said when the pause became ridiculously long. "Don't forget to close the door when you _finally_ leave."

She turned on her heels and stomped off and up the stairs to her bedroom fighting that terrible burning feeling in her chest.

"Awesome," Dean breathed out, and followed Bela on, "Give me a sec,' not really addressing anyone in particular.

Bela marched into her room and slammed the door behind her back making her point clear. Fury was boiling inside of her as she tried oh so hard to convince herself that she wasn't actually… _jealous_ or something else ridiculous. Jealous? Oh God, of course she wasn't! What a crazy idea! Of some… some skinny red-headed, angelic, probably powerful, maybe somewhat _magical_… She winced at the thought. Why would anyone… And besides, why would she be jealous of Dean Winchester? Seriously? No way! Impossible.

The door burst open two seconds later and Deal walked in, also not in the best of moods, if his glowering gaze was any indication.

"Okay, what is it this time?" He poked his finger at the door, obviously referring to whatever happened downstairs.

"What?" She quirked her brow up. It wasn't that hard to keep her cool, at least externally. Arms crossed on her chest, she put on her best bitch face before turning to him.

"_What?_" Dean repeated. "Are you kidding me?"

"You have no right to come here with… _angels_, and drag me into all of this!" She snapped.

"You're already in, Bela, in case you didn't notice."

And that was just as much as she could stand!

"You know, that's it!" She bellowed. "I can put up with you feeling yourself at home at my place, coming and going whenever you want. I can put up with your friend popping out of nowhere and scaring hell out of me." She came up to him and pointed her finger at his chest. "But I am not going to make tea parties for your girlfriends. So do me a favor, go down, get out and solve your problems somewhere else! And don't forget to take your friends with you!"

"My… what?" Dean let out a bark of a laugh, loud and humorless. "She's not my-"

"Don't you dare lie me in the face," she cut him off, way too sure she was right.

They glared at each other intensely, handles balled and lips pursed tight as though they actually could start swinging any moment. The tension filled the room and became almost tangible.

"Why do you even care, Bela?" He scoffed with a great deal of sarcasm. "_You_ dumped me, remember?"

Her breath hitched but she hoped that nothing about her face changed. "So this is what? Revenge? Cute!" She drawled poisonously. "How very mature. But you're right. I don't give a damn. Do what-the-hell-ever you want, Dean!"

"Fine!" His jaw was tight.

"Fine!" She hissed.

He stomped downstairs breathing through his nose like a bull that had red cloth before his eyes, angry and frustrated because the damned women never knew what they wanted and the bloody demons were taking over the world, and he didn't exactly know how to deal with both at the same time. _Just put one against the other_, he thought darkly. Now that was an idea!

But right now all her wanted was to think of _demons_, if only because they were simpler. Concentrate on demons, do something to save the world and get Bela Talbot the hell out of his mind!

"We're leaving, come on," he all but ran past Anna and Castiel that were still standing where he left them a few minutes ago and into the kitchen area. Grabbed his duffel bag from the floor, tossed it onto the counter and started shoving his stuff into it muttering something about bloody fucked up chicks under his breath.

"Dean-"

"What?" He snapped whirling around. "The book, remember? Kill the Devil, get a thank you. It's not like we have frigging time for… _tea parties_." He grimaced when Bela's words slipped out of his mouth. Great!

Castiel and Anna exchanged glances in that way that he hated most, if only because it never meant anything good but they were sort of tiptoeing around it searching for the right words, and other crap. And all he could actually do was feel like a moron. And he was just a little too pissed for it.

"Dean, we can't just leave," Castiel said looking too _I've got bad news for you_ for Dean's taste. "I mean – _just_ leave."

"Yeah, that's what you said." He reminded him with mock patience.

"We can't."

"Fine, you stay," he was so not in a mood for any of that, and he didn't exactly want to explode, which was going to happen in, like, half a minute, if they just didn't leave him alone.

"They are looking for her."

"Awesome," he tucked his blood stained jacket atop of the rest of his belongings. And began to fight with the zipper cursing because it got stuck. "Who should I call to tell where to find her and finally put an end to all of that?" And God help him if he wasn't serious.

He yanked his duffel off of the counter with his good hand and winced when his muscles tensed painfully in the left shoulder all the same. He still felt like crap and with the prospect of driving somewhere where he could have some rest he couldn't even dull it with alcohol.

Grimacing all the way, he went to the door. _Don't forget to close the door_, he mimicked in his head. _Oh, I'll close it alright!_

"Dean, wait!" Anna stepped forward. "Alastair is after her."

And she might have as well just punched him or something. He stopped frozen and turned slowly, processing the information but too struck to wrap his mind around it. "Come again?"

"That's what I was trying to say. Lilith wants her bad, they need her."

"Why?"

Another exchange of looks followed, and this time it was really annoying.

"Why?" Dean repeated, his heart started to thud dully against his ribs. Angels! "I mean, it's _Bela_! Have they even spent time with her? Or having her around is some form of torture?"

"They wanted her from the start," Castiel spoke. "We thought it was because-"

"They miss her in hell so much! Yeah, I can imagine that. Awesome company and all. But-"

"She's into it as much as you are," Anna stopped him.

He swallowed hard. "How?"

"It was you who broke the first seal and started the Apocalypse."

"I kinda remember that," he breathed out.

"But it was her blood you shed to start it," she went on. "And now she is back. And whatever I means, they don't like it."

"Plus, she's someone they can use to get to you and Sam," Castiel added and God damn him if there wasn't humor in his voice.

"What makes them think so?" He frowned.

"You brought her back. It's a bit… obvious, no?"

"Crap!"

He unclenched his fingers and let the duffel bag hit the floor. He closed her eyes and rubbed his eyelids. Breathe. He had to breathe. Now, that was just… And he actually had to… to do what?

* * *

**To be continued! **

Thanks a lot for reading! Reviews are always welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Well, it took me a little longer than I expected but here it is – another chapter :))) Hope you're going to like it

Also, _again_, thanks a lot for your patience, guys. You have no idea how much it means to me :)

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_- It feels like the end of time  
Like something bad is coming  
You've been living in the world of lies  
Your see through walls are falling  
It's getting hard to accept __that  
I'm losing you _

"_Lost and lonely" by The Rasmus-_

"I still can't believe I am doing it," Bela singsonged under her breath not addressing anyone in particular.

Because it really was just beyond her how she ended up sitting in the front seat of the Impala with the map sprawled on her lap, as she risked becoming deaf by the end of the hour if _someone_ didn't turn down the blasting music.

Dean's chuckle was soft but distinguishable. Bela scolded him and reached out to turn the volume of the radio down to a bearable level breaking the "Don't touch anything" rule Dean set before letting her in the car without so much as a second thought. Like she cared for any of his stupid rules!

"No, Dean, really! Why?" She repeated – well, shouted actually – when he stubbornly turned the music up again. Rolled her eyes and turned the damned thing off for good deafened by the silence for a moment.

"You couldn't resist my charm," Dean wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Bela snickered. "Your _begging_, you mean?"

His jaw dropped and he spluttered fighting for the words, his eyes darting between her face and the road before him outside the windshield. "Wha… What? I didn't…! It wasn't…" He began, lost track of his thought and snapped, "I wasn't begging you!"

"Okay," Bela agreed easily.

And Dean knew with 100% accuracy that she did it only because she knew it would set his teeth on edge, which, of course, worked.

"It wasn't… begging!" He hissed darkly. "It was… _reasoning_!"

"Which of course does not exclude begging," she pointed out flashing the best smile of hers in his direction.

"Which of course does not exclude reasoning," he mimicked her and beamed proudly.

"So, you agree it was begging after all?"

_Damn it!_ How? How was she doing it all the time?

Dean opened his mouth, didn't come up with an answer, closed it again. Bela's brows shot up as she waited.

"Shut up," he grumbled in the end, his eyes on the road again and his lips pursed into a thin line as he fumed silently.

"Yes, Dean, _shut up_ beats everything."

Their trip was more or less like that ever since they took off several hours ago, after Dean bitched for an hour about her being too slow packing. She ignored him completely, as well as his advices that he was putting in every now and then. Considered telling him to go to hell, no matter how out of place it could sound in the light of their recent return from there and in the presence of an angel in the trench coat that was hanging around annoying crap out of her. It was too damn tempting. But then gave herself points for not doing it and settled on being satisfied with herself about that.

Down in the parking lot Dean lovingly rearranged his arsenal in the trunk of the Impala only to shove her suitcase into it beside his duffel bag like some piece of rubbish. For that she dug high heel of her designer boot into his foot on her way to the passenger door, chin tipped high, and paid no attention to his glare.

They stopped for coffee and lunch some time later. Bela only lifted her eyebrows at the sight of a diner that came right from 60s. Well, she was more than sure it had never been renovated ever since then. The kind of place one could see in "Pleasantville". Dean rolled his eyes at her expression and was the first to leave the car leaving the choice to follow him or not up to Bela making it clear that he was done with _begging_ or whatever. _Reasoning_, right!

On a sigh – and with a smile which she was sure would get on his nerves – Bela opened the door. The wind sent shivers down her entire body and she folded her jacket tighter around her frame. Dean either knew she'd follow or didn't care because he didn't bother to wait. Or to hold the door for her. Or something else she _didn't_ expect him to do.

By the time she walked through the glass door, Dean had already taken a seat in one of the booths near the window – red benches and red-and-white checked table-cloth on the table, no kidding – and was placing his order. Bela slid into the booth taking a seat across the table from him and picked up the menu feeling the eyes of both middle-aged waitress and Dean on her.

She chose breakfast special – pancakes with maple syrup, coffee and orange juice – believing that there was almost no way to ruin that, even in a place like this one. The waitress took their menus and left. Bela folded her arms across her chest and sagged into the time-softened leather of the red diner bench as they glared at each other without saying a word. Gee, must have been a nice image!

Even two cups of strong and surprisingly good coffee didn't stop her from falling asleep shortly after getting back to the car as she was lulled by the hypnotizing flicker of trees outside and monotonous rumbling of the engine, despite almost unnatural crane of her neck.

Sometime later she opened her eyes right in time to see Dean pulling the car into the run-down gas-station. He was out of the car before she had time to process what exactly was going on, still half-asleep, and then he got back with two cups of weird substance that was supposed to be coffee – which she doubted – and a paper-bag of snacks. And, well, he filled the tank, which she was endlessly grateful for because getting lost in the middle of nowhere without gas was the last thing on her least of fun things.

After a while Bela ended up with the road map on her lap trying to figure out where they were. It wasn't hard to follow their way from Queens but Dean's charming habit to take back roads and old and abandoned highways made its job – she didn't even know what state they were in. She tried to recall the last time they passed any road sign, or the last time they saw another car come to think of it, and failed miserably.

"Can you please keep this thing away from me?" Dean asked with fake politeness shoving the map off of his lap. "It's kinda interferes with my driving," he added in a voice that implied that it was beyond boring to indicate obvious things.

"Well, I'm sorry, Dean," Bela traced her fingers along the red line that indicated I-something from New-York to the highway she remembered last. "Apparently, I am the only one who cares about us being lost."

"What? We're not lost!" He snapped.

"Really?" She looked pointedly at him, her brows quirked up in that elegant way of hers. "Where are we, then?"

"We're…" He stuttered. "We're…"

"I am not asking for exact location. State would be enough."

"We're not lost! No one can be lost on the road. It leads… somewhere."

Bela blinked at him. "Good point. I have never thought about it that way." She shook her head. "It's not really comforting but… where are we going, anyway?" She wondered realizing if a little belatedly that it should have been asked in the first place.

"We'll figure it out," Dean shrugged and then beamed at her. "On the way."

"On the way _where_?" She asked cautiously as a really unpleasant suspicion crept in.

"Well…"

"Oh, please tell me that all this joyful ride wasn't just for fun," Bela started, her voice gaining a warning edge to it. As in, _tell me what I don't want to hear and I'll kill you_.

He considered her question for a moment. "There will be a sign," and then added on a sigh, "Believe me, there always is."

"Terrific," she breathed out in disbelief.

What seemed to be nothing but an impulse of an idea at first was clearly turning into total insanity.

She turned around and stared out the passenger window at the blinking row of grayish trees along the road, pretty much naked at this time of the year. The sky was heavy and low, and even though it was too warm for the show to start, they were probably getting some rain soon.

It wasn't the weather that bothered her of course, regardless of how depressing it was. It was the reason why she ended up stuck in the car with the man she should have stayed away from – like, several stated away preferably – that left her restless and her mind unsettled. And the reason was, as much as she hated it – she owed her life to Dean Winchester and his winged friends, and even her 24/7 bitchy self couldn't let her close her eyes at that and step aside when he was struggling so hard to save the world in one piece. She didn't give a damn, truth be told. Her faith in Good winning over Evil was long shattered and forgotten. But his attitude was admirable, to say the least, and she had to give him that.

To be honest, Bela seriously doubted she could be of much help, but she could at least try, right? Or pretend that she was, or whatever. It annoyed hell out of her though that he didn't even have to so much as snap his fingers for her to be on the way, a suitcase in hand. The general idea was to prove him wrong of course, about saving the words and her eagerness, and that was exactly what she was going to do, but still…

Bela sighed and tried to relax as best she could in given circumstances, and what was the most important – she tried to get all of that the hell out of her mind.

* * *

Lulled by the monotonous ride and, well, boredom, she dozed off somewhere… between here and there. She came to with a start though when she felt the car slow down.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart," Dean signsonged merrily making a u-turn and hitting the brakes.

Bela growled rubbing her eyes as she straightened up in the seat. It was dark already and she blinked fighting to make something out outside the car. It took her a moment to realize that something was blinking back at her, and that something was a neon sigh switching from Vacancy to No Vacancy faster than he sleepy mind could process.

"What is this place?" She croaked yawning, making sure she made it sound like _Did you really have to wake me up or what?_

"We're stopping for the night," Dean announced enthusiastically killing the engine. "Some of us had to drive all, see."

On that he opened the door letting the chilly air in. Bela shivered a little, glaring daggers at his back. It wasn't her fault he had to drive all the time. Graciously, she offered to take his place for a while but only got an _Are you nuts?_ look in response. Whatever.

Well, technically speaking she could use some proper rest, she admitted pondering the thought without enthusiasm. She felt like crap, her entire body was stiff and felt twisted at the most impossible angles and her neck… her neck was definitely not going to be straight ever again. She rubbed the back of it wishing she were anywhere but here. Her only concern was that proper rest could not possibly be associated with any place Dean Winchester could pich for it.

At last, she pushed her own door open and all but fell out of the Impala.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Yes, it was even worse than she expected. If it was even possible.

She took in the neon sign and what probably were a palm and a seagull, or so she guessed assuming that not all parts of it were on. The car was parked at the half-empty lot before the one-storey building with crooked blinds on the half-glassed door. Behind it was another building, also one-storied and long, with a row of identical green doors and curtained windows, some of them lit up. The whole place was run-down, cheap and depressing. She was not going to stay here for the night, or for another five minutes come to think of it.

Bela craned her neck to the sound of the truck being slammed close and saw her suitcase standing near the back door.

"We're not staying here," she informed Dean when he showed up from behind the car with his duffel bag in his hand.

He looked down his nose at her. "Fine. I am staying here. You, on the other hand, are free and look for something else for your royal self." On that he headed to the registration office. "Make sure you don't fall asleep in the car. I am not going to haul your frozen ass outa there in the morning," he added over the shoulder.

Tempting, Bela thought. She could have had the entire back seat for herself. In that case she at least wouldn't be at risk of catching something nasty in that dump of a place, even if her body would hate her for the rest of her life. So damn tempting.

Cursing, she rolled her eyes hating Dean Winchester – and pretty much the rest of the world; grabbed the handle of her suitcase and followed him, fuming inside. Did her best not to step on the cracks in the pavement out of fear to leave the heels of her boots in them and all but stumbled over the bumps she didn't want to give much thought to.

Run-down was a flattering understatement, she added darkly in her mind. She caught up with Dean half-way to the building and went past him with her chin tipped high with more dignity than she actually felt leaving her suitcase beside him. If he was actually going to make her carry it by herself, or worse – if he was going to just leave it behind, she was so going to make him regret saving her!

Dean knew better than that though. So, he rolled his eyes too and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, which Bela knew wasn't a compliment, but he did not dare to leave her stuff outside.

In fact, he beat her to the registration office and when Bela finally made it there, both sleepiness and high heels considered, both he and a middle-aged skinny balding clerk with the wiry glasses perched on the very tip of his nose stared at her. Clerk – with curiosity. Dean – with appreciation. He gave her a long thoughtful once-over receiving a scold back and turned back to the man.

"Make it two." And then, "Unless you insist on sharing one," wiggled his eyebrows at Bela giving her a quick glance.

"You wish," she scoffed, oddly uncomfortable in the light of the reception area lamps after the semi-darkness of the car and parking lot. Suppressed the urge to check her hair and decided that she probably was a step away from actually killing someone for shower.

Dean sighed. "See what I have to deal with?" He asked the man in a tired confiding voice and shook his head. Bela snorted but did not dignify _that_ with any sort of verbal response.

She waited for him to fill in whatever he needed to fill in and sign standing at the door, arms folded on her chest, and gawking at the photos hanging on the walls. Vaguely, she wondered if they actually ended up here simply because he couldn't afford anything more decent than that. In any case, if she was going to spend the night in that godforsaken place, she was not going to actually pay for it! Part of her wondered mischievously if he was going to ask her to, and then she had to hold back disappointed sigh when he didn't.

She let him walk her to the door, scarred and with peeling paint, took the key from him and then all but slammed said door in his face when he only started saying, "Well, good ni-"

Once inside, Bela flipped the lights on and observed the room curiously, if only because she never had a pleasure of being in a place like that. Well, minus that night when they… she pushed the memories away wincing inwardly. Okay, her room was rather big, a queen-sized bed covered with faded dark-green comforter occupied a greater part of it. At the opposite wall she spotted a dresser with small old TV on top of it and a couple of chairs on each side of it. Another chair stood near the table to the left from her.

She put the key onto it and rolled her suitcase up to the dresser.

"Home, sweet home," Bela drawled mockingly under her breath, not quite sure what to make out of all of that. It didn't look _bad_ but she felt her standards dropping and she didn't like the feeling. At this rate she'd probably start considering McDonalds a five-star restaurant soon, which was just sickening. Also, some part of her expected to spot roaches or rats or something else nasty any moment, and it wasn't exactly helping the matters. She was uncomfortable and frustrated.

Bela made a short tour around the place, huge that it was, poking her nose here and there. There was a nightstand to the right from the bed with a reading lamp and a phone. And, funnily, the Bible in the lower drawer. Apparently, people who didn't have a choice but to stay in places like that hadn't much to hope for so prayer was their safe resort, she decided trying to keep the sarcasm intact.

In the end, she grabbed the remote from the dresser, kicked off her heels and flopped onto the bed wiggling her toes. Now that was heaven, she thought with a quiet moan of please, or at least the closest thing to it she could get now. Her entire body responded to the move. God, it was exactly why she preferred to travel by air – anything was better than having to be stuck in the car for good ten hours in a row.

The first thing that Bela saw on TV was a rerun of "Gone with the Wind", the moment when the legendary Scarlett O'Hara was making her way down the stairs in the similarly legendary dress of hers, and Bela wondered for the umpteenth time if they made it through filming this movie without broken legs.

And then the phone rang.

She looked pointedly at the green door leading to the neighboring room. Turned the volume of the TV down and then picked up the receiver.

"It's been 15 minutes, Dean, and you miss me already?" She asked, sounding endlessly flattered.

"_Ha-ha, funny. Now can you please get over yourself for just a moment?_" And since the question did not quite require an answer, he went on, "_Anyway, I am going to order some pizza. You in?_"

"Since when food machines in the hall are not your thing anymore?"

"_Are you in?_" He repeated impatiently, ignoring her.

"Um, no." _The bagel I got at the gas station is still stuck somewhere in my throat_. "Enjoy yourself."

He scoffed. "_Fine. But don't come knocking on my door in the middle of the night if you get hungry._" And added as an afterthought, "_Come to think of it, don't come knocking on my door for anything._"

"And you tell _me_ to get over myself?" She snickered. "Thanks for reminding me to unplug my phone by the way."

"_Whatever_." She could have sworn he rolled his eyes here. "_And FYI, we're taking off right after breakfast. You sleep in and you're going to hitchhike._"

"Are you seriously saying that you'd leave me behind?" Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief before she realized he couldn't actually see it.

"_See it for yourself,_" Dean snorted making her wish to smack him with the receiver.

Bela hung up on him there without so much as a goodnight. Stared at the phone for a couple of moments contemplating the idea of sleeping in on purpose to see what he'd actually do in that case. But then it occurred to her to ignoring every single word he was saying was probably a better idea.

The movie lost its appeal in about five minutes, and Scarlet's inability to freaking strangle Rhett became beyond annoying. Bela left the TV running as a background noise, rolled off of the bed and strolled to explore the bathroom trying to keep her expectations to a minimum.

The bathroom was a pleasant surprise though, to Bela's endless surprise. It was small, and although a couple of tiles were cracked and the mirror above the sink had a black corner that could only have appeared after its 20 years of existence, the towels were new, soft and crispy. And they smelled nice too – like a lemon and mint fabric softener. And hell yeah, there was hot water. She missed Astoria or Marriott with all her heart, but at the same time she had to admit that everything could have been much worse – assuming Dean's taste and financial situation.

Hot shower made Bela feel much better. Not entirely perfect but she became more of a human and less of a walking dead by any means. And the familiar feel of her pajama t-shirt and shorts brought her world back. And to be honest, that was as much as she could have asked in given circumstances.

The movie was long over by the time she emerged from the bathroom followed by the flowery smelling steam. She turned the TV off having no wish to watch the news or flip through the rest of the channels that this place was offering. Pizza didn't sound like a bad idea anymore and Bela regretted declining Dean's offer. But dignity was a bitch and she didn't want to call Dean and give him an opportunity to mock her for the rest of their trip, however long it would be. Instead, she sighed, considering the options and settled on sleep. She climbed under the covers letting her body relax completely and fell asleep in no time.

* * *

She woke up with a start a few hours later, as if something pushed her out of the safe confines of her dreams – or lack of those – and right into the cold cruel reality. Something was wrong, she knew it instantly. Could feel it with her skin even. She lay still with her eyes shut, listening. It was so quiet that this fact alone was giving her creeps, making her wish to hear a car passing by outside or muffled sound of the TV coming from another room. But there was nothing, as if the entire world was dead.

The thought made her snap her eyes open on a sharp intake of breath as her heartbeat accelerated by the second, settling a cold sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. A panic attack, she got used to them over time. Mostly, they were unreasonable and nothing but an aftereffect of her vacation in hell and all her fears and pain and everything she had to go through. But now it felt different. It felt real and dangerous, as if it wasn't just something in her mind screwing with her. Bela rolled onto her back and looked around… and all but screamed when she saw dark lopsided letters on the pale wallpaper lit by the moonlight filtering through the light half-transparent beige curtains.

"_You're dead,"_ the words said.

Forgetting how to breathe momentarily, she scooted upwards until her back was pressed against the headboard of the bed, her rapid heartbeat and the rush of adrenaline in her system making her lightheaded and dizzy, and yet paralyzing her with fear.

"No," she mumbled almost soundlessly. Couldn't be. It was a dream. She was sleeping, wasn't she? It couldn't be happening to her for real. It was impossible.

Automatically, her eyes still glued to the wall, Bela reached out to flip the light on but it didn't work. She kept turning the switch listening to dry clicks of it but the room remained dark. In the end, unable to keep sitting there, she all but fell out of the bed and stumbled backwards until she hit the half-open bathroom door with the elbow. Disoriented, she barged inside reaching for the switch on instinct when complete darkness of the place swallowed her.

And then had to screw her eyes tight when the light came to life all of a sudden. Deep inside, she didn't expect it to happen assuming that the lamp in the room didn't work. Bela rubbed at her eyes gulping hungrily for air now that the world finally came into focus again. It was just a nightmare, she told herself. No big deal, she'd had to shortage of them lately. And that thing on the wall was probably just a shadow from the tree or something else outside her room, and she just read what her twisted mind told her to into it. End of story, right?

Slowly, she took yet another deep breath and pried her eyes open when she was sure the light wouldn't blind her. God, she was so losing it. The thought made her sneer inwardly.

And then she saw it, everywhere around her. Red on white. Blood on the tiles. Everywhere.

"_You are dead."_

The letters were crooked and the blood was trickling down the walls and dripping into the bathtub and on the floor forming misshaped pools. Small and big, the words were taking almost all space on the walls. And the mirror… _Dead. Dead. Dead._ It was all she could see as the room started spinning around her like a carousel merging into one never evening sickening motion.

"No," she repeated shaking her head like crazy, and it came out as a low horrified whimper. "No, no, no!"

Bela backed away until her back hit the wall, and then slid down to the floor when her knees gave in and the walls started to close in on her.

"No, no, no, please," she kept repeating as if all the blood could just disappear on her command.

Feeling the cold tile through the soft cotton of her t-shirt, she swallowed hard, trembling all over, and brought her hands up to cover her face to stop seeing all of that as though just shutting her eyes wasn't enough. And froze when she saw the cuts on her wrists and the blood dripping from them and down her arms and onto her pajama. Its thick sweet scent filled her head instantly as if it was something physical muting the rest of her thoughts.

Terrifying realization hit her like a hard blow in the gut. It was her blood all over. She did it. She wrote all of it because she knew the truth no matter how hard she tried to push it away. She was dead. She didn't belong among the living. She didn't deserve to be here. She was dead.

And that was when she started to scream.

_-__I watch you as you sleep _

_Your nightmares break the silence _

_I can tell that you're in too deep _

_Got your mind down to a science _

_And every time that I touch you _

_I'm losing you _

"_Lost and lonely" by The Rasmus-

* * *

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**To be continued!**

Stay tuned! Reviews are highly appreciated!

Thanks!


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